Fly on Broken Wings
by Celtic Blades
Summary: AU, Updated to Chap 12. It's turning into CSI:Rohan on me, Legolas found near death in Fangorn, Gimli presumed dead, is Eomer's love strong enough to save the elf? Will Aragorn help or hinder? SLASH, Eomer/Legolas. Reviews/concrit appreciated ON HIATUS UNTIL FORTY EIGHT WAYS IS DONE
1. Chapter One

A/N: An apology to my readers. Before I was finished with this story, the sequel started writing itself. This has forced me to make a few small changes in the story as posted to Chapter Four. But now the continuity issues have been fixed. Thanks for bearing with me. Reviews are always welcome. CB.

Chapter One

The light was soft and diffused, blending into the shadows of the forest. The overcast skies of late fall prevented any shaft of sunlight from breaking through, surrounding the hunting party with a damp and surreal dimness. A chill settled over them. Even the dogs seemed subdued, plodding through brush with a downcast air, occasionally pulling at a lead halfheartedly.

Eomer, leading the small group, stopped suddenly and raised his hand for his companions to halt. His eyes, bright beneath his heavy brows, scanned the wet trees before him, looking for the source of the sound he'd barely heard. Hroth whined to his left, and he glared at the deer hound. The dog whined again.

Motioning for his men to stay where they were, he pulled his sword from the scabbard, gently, so as not to alert his quarry. This was no longer a hunt for deer. He passed his bow to Halma and careful of his footfalls on the small game trail they had been following, he moved forward.

He was silent as he advanced through the trees. A soft rustle, hardly more than a sigh made him freeze again. His keen eyes found the dark stain on the birch tree ahead. He moved cautiously, reaching to touch the spot. Blood. Fresh.

He thought he heard that whispering moan once again. Was it only the tree, responding to his touch? Fangorn could play tricks on a man's mind. No, there it was again. A sad and pitiful thing.

He waved his men forward, signalling them to cover him. Deciding quickly, he sheathed the great sword and peered into the branches above him. An indistinct figure? A trick of the light in the leaves? Resolutely he began to climb. His hand slipped, came away from a branch red with fresh blood. The metallic tang filled his nostrils. Carefully he continued.

The huddled shape let out another reluctant sigh. There was something familiar about the length of the limbs, the shape of the boot protruding at an odd angle. Eomer's heart froze, his hands began to tremble. His head was even with the figure.

"I'm coming up," the man said softly. "Don't be afraid."

Was it a ripple of reaction that ran through that form? Did it try to respond? The man reached the creature and extended a hand to touch it. Wedged into a crotch of branches, swathed in a cloak stained with blood, it whimpered.

"It's alright. I'm here to help." he whispered. He could taste the sweat on his lip. He touched the booted foot, moved closer.

The shrouded figure tried to move, a cry of pain forced from unwilling lungs. The hood fell partway back, causing Eomer to pull away in terror.

This? Was this ravaged face the laughing vision that had once driven the thought of any other lover from his mind and heart? The swollen and blackened eyes, the nose, broken and shattered. The right cheek, laid open in a great a gaping hole. In place of that glorious hair that had once flowed in waves, scrapes and lesions showed where it had been cruelly shaved by knife or dagger. He let out a sob before he'd realized he'd done it. Forcing himself to calm, he steadied himself in the tree.

"Halma," he called down to his companions, "get my horse ready, now! I'll want Higa to travel with me back to Edoras. The rest of you spread out and begin searching the area. Follow the blood trail. Let the dogs loose. Look for a campsite, a sign of struggle, anything! Higa, I'm going to send you on to Aragorn at Gondor."

"Stay with me," he muttered to the unconscious form, manoeuvring the body around his shoulders and beginning the difficult climb downwards. He was acutely aware of the thinness of the limbs he rested on, the slickness of the bark.

"Is it someone from Gondor?" Higa called up.

"Worse." Eomer replied grimly. "It's Legolas of Mirkwood." He cursed under his breath. "We have to find Gimli, the dwarf!"

Eomer was reluctant to release the elf to the willing hands that helped him down from the tree. Once on the ground, he examined the wreck before him. Legolas had sustained wounds that would have killed mortal man. It was only the incredible strength of the elves that kept any life at all in the prone figure.

As Eomer pushed back the sodden cloak Higa hissed at the extent of the damage done to the elf. "We can't move him that far. It will kill him."

Eomer shook his head, already gathering the elf up in his arms. "He's dying now. I can at least try to get him to a healer."

Higa gently pulled the hood of the cloak up to cover the scabbed and oozing head of the elf, covering the ruin it had become. "He'll never make it to Edoras on horseback. There's an old hut, maybe an hour's hard ride from the wood, it'll get him out of the weather at least. I'll send a healer as quickly as I can."

Cradling the elf close to his chest, Eomer looked at Higa with pleading eyes. "Eowyn is at Ithilien. Who can help?" He felt Legolas shudder in pain and dreaded the hard ride before them.

Walking beside him, Higa helped support the elf. "If you can keep him alive, perhaps he can start to heal himself. Elves can survive horrific wounds."

The carried their burden as quickly as they could to the edge of the forest where Halma waited with Firefoot. Speaking softly to the horse, Eomer told him to remain very still as he mounted and his companions passed the grisly form up to him. He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, giving Firefoot his head as he gripped Legolas tightly to him. He silently prayed the elf survived the ride. Hroth, the great deer hound, slipped his lead and padded to the horses side, refusing all commands to leave. He paced around the horse, his whimpering a mournful sound in the wind.

"Fine!" Eomer snapped. "You can come, but you'd best keep up. I'm not waiting for you!"

"Here," Halma said, passing up a small belt pouch. "Some herbs. Bathe the wounds in kingsfoil and try to make him drink some willow bark tea if he wakes up. Both will help. Keep him warm." Eomer stowed the pouch in his tunic and turned Firefoot.

"Find Gimli," he commanded. "Legolas would not leave him, unless he were..." he broke off, unable to finish the thought.

Halma nodded grimly. Higa was already mounted and ready. Gripping Firefoot with his legs, trusting the horse, Eomer urged the horse forward. The jolting motion wrung a cry from the elf, and then he was silent.

Firefoot seemed to understand Eomer's urgency and raced ahead, speeding over ground long familiar to him. The great hound matched his pace. The man held the elf tightly, trying to cushion the bruised form, afraid of doing more damage to his friend. With a macabre juxtaposition he remembered Legolas flying over this ground on Arod, disdaining to used even bridle and reins. He shivered in horror.

Higa led him to the deserted hut, long abandoned by whatever herder had used it. It's stone foundation was still solid, but the roof showed holes where the thatch had rotted. A damp and musty smell assailed his nostrils, but he was grateful for the corner that blocked the winds that prevailed in the Rohan. Legolas slipped as he handed him down to Higa, but the elf was past all screaming.

Grateful for the bedrolls and provisions packed on the horses, Eomer quickly built a makeshift pallet on the rotten straw piled in the corner. Higa helped him place the elf on the blankets, which were clean at least, and gathered kindling from scraps of wood littering the floor. Eomer lightly removed the hood from the elf's head, revealing the extent of the injuries. His stomach lurched and he tasted bile. Fighting the urge to vomit, he unwrapped the cloak from the prone body. Blood soaked the suede tunic, the trousers, Eomer.

Higa lit the fire and began to heat water. Eomer pulled his knife from his boot and, thankful that Legolas was beyond fresh pain, began to cut the clothes away. Smoke stung his eyes and gave him an excuse for the tears that filled them.

"It's bad, Higa," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Broken ribs, leg, at least one break in this arm. Cuts. His back looks like he's been flogged! And his face..." he choked.

Higa looked up from the remains of the hearth. "He's still alive, Eomer. There's hope." The water heating quickly, he reached for the herbs. Crushing some of the athelas into the pot, he was instantly revived by the sweet soothing aroma. He stirred it and passed the warm water to Eomer. The dog settled by the door, the eyes following every move.

"Wash him with this. I'll get the willow bark steeping."

It seemed that Legolas relaxed for a tiny moment as he placed the pot by the elf's head. He looked around for a clean cloth. Shaking his head, he stood and began stripping out of his gear. Within moments his tunic was ripped into long strips suitable for bandaging. He dipped one into the pot and began to bathe the damaged face.

Higa steeped the tea, brought more water and wood, and then prepared to leave. Eomer was struck by a moment of terror.

"Higa, what if..." he asked through dry lips.

"In Gondor, they say that the hands of the King are the hands of the Healer." Higa told him.

"We're not in Gondor." Eomer retorted.

"But you are King. Keep him alive. I'll send the best healer in Edoras and Aragorn and Eowyn can be here within a week." He looked at Eomer with pity. "I will hurry." He ducked his head and left quickly. Eomer heard the hoof beats as he galloped away. He turned back to the elf, still lying motionless.

"Stay with me, Legolas," he whispered. "I need you. I've always needed you, love."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Eomer set the pot on the hearth once again. It seemed an eternity that he had been here, cramped in this small dank cottage, heating water, adding herbs, washing the elf's wounds as delicately as he could, bandaging the cuts and slashes. Thankfully an old splintered bucket had been part of the detritus left when the herder abandoned the shelter. It was a quick walk to the stream, and he'd filled and used three buckets already, rinsing the rags as well as he could in the cold running water. Hroth took his position beside the elf when he left the hut, watching the elf's chest rise and fall, keening softly.

Legolas remained unmoving, unknowing. His stillness frightened Eomer, who began to keep up a running conversation with himself as he worked, more to reassure himself than to try and get a response from the elf.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked, gently wiping the battered face. "You threatened to kill me. Those were the first words you ever spoke to me. I've never forgotten that."

His hard hands moved as softly as any woman's as he cleaned away dried blood. "You were so angry that I threatened Gimli. I felt so sorry for Aragorn that day, sent out with such a pair of lunatics! I had a lot to learn about you, didn't I?"

He traded the cloth for a cleaner one and continued. He finished the cheek, the hole perhaps the most terrifying of all the wounds, covered it with a bit of bandage, and moved to the ear, ragged, as if the top had been chewed off. Gingerly he sponged away clots and bits of dirt. Fighting against the nausea he felt, he went on with his monologue.

"I never knew an elf before you, you know. I'd heard stories, of course, but you were something else completely. And so full of laughter..." he broke off, choked by a sob. He took a moment to get his voice back under control.

"You and Gimli, always trying to outdo each other," he continued, then stopped, realizing what Gimli's fate would have been, if Legolas was in this condition.

Forcing cheerfulness into his voice, he changed topics once again. "You ride as if you were born on horseback, Legolas. You and Arod were always as one. I think it was the first time Firefoot had ever lost, that time we raced. He was definitely put out. It took me about a week to convince him he was still as virile as ever. It must be some elven trick, Aragorn has it, too. Brego is a completely different horse under him. You can gentle with a word. It's a trick I'd like to learn. It worked with me."

Sweat beaded on his forehead, running to his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, leaving bloody streaks. He pushed the hair back from his eyes, took up another cloth, and continued his grim work.

"You were right, you know. I understand that now. I have for some time, but I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to humble myself." He snorted in derision. "You know about pride. We all have it. Kings and sons of Kings. Isn't that how you put it?"

The fire-shine flickered in the darkening room and for a moment Eomer thought that Legolas was trying to raise an eyebrow. The shadows shifted and he realized it was his imagination. The pale face remained as still as ever.

"I've sent for Aragorn. He'll know what to do for you, better than this. Eowyn, too. She's a great healer. But you have to try. Don't go too far away in those dreams of yours, Legolas. Although they must be better than where we are now. A mucky hut filled with bad straw and mice. Not quite the King's Chamber at Meduseld." He sopped up the last of the herb infused water and dabbed at the blood on the neck. It came away, revealing pale skin but no new injuries. Runoff from the ravages of the ear.

"I'm just going to get some more water," he went on, piling the soiled cloths into the bucket. "I won't be long, so you just rest up, love." He pulled the blankets up around the elf's neck, as if he were tucking in a sleepy child. Then he stooped to kiss the shaved head, careful of the cuts and scrapes. The dog lay his head beside the elf's, the eyes never leaving the face.

Outside he stretched, feeling his tendons pull from squatting so long. He whistled for Firefoot, who came up and nickered, placing his head against Eomer's shoulder. The man ruffled the mane for a moment and then headed to the stream, the horse beside him.

His boots squelching in the mud of the bank, he slid down, filling the bucket first. He washed his hands in the cold runoff and splashed water over his face. The wind blew his hair across his eyes, and he cursed, fumbling for a thong and tied it back. He began rinsing out the dirty rags, letting the clear water carry the filth away in bloody swirls.

"What else can I do, Firefoot?" he asked the horse, bent over his task. "I've washed him, bandaged him, but how do I keep him alive?"

The horse nuzzled his back, nearly tipping the tired man into the creek. Eomer righted himself and pushed the horse's head away. Firefoot nudged him again. Eomer dropped his cloth and waded into the creek to retrieve it. When he was back on the bank, Firefoot nudged him once more.

"Stop it, I get it," Eomer told him, scratching behind the horse's ear. "Just keep him busy, is that it? Irritate him enough, and he'll get up off that bed and hit me, right?" He sobbed, burying his face in the horses neck for a moment. "I'd be happy with that."

He stood up and headed back to the shelter of the hut. Firefoot wandered a little ways away, happily grazing, his tale flicking.

Eomer put more water on to heat, set out his rags and pulled the wineskin from the small pile of provisions. He drank deeply and felt a little better. Removing his wet boots, he sat down beside Legolas, sighed, and started talking again.

"When you're back on you're feet again, Legolas, we'll go back to that little wood we rode to that time. Arod will be glad to see you again, I don't think he's been ridden since you left. It's hard for a horse when he's so perfectly matched with a rider. No one else seems to suit him. It's like trying to walk again once you've learned how to fly. Maybe we can get Aragorn to come with us, if you like. I don't think Brego gets anywhere near enough exercise these days. I guess we could even try fishing again, if he insists."

Eomer shifted, keeping his eyes on Legolas' face. "It's starting to get dark, I'll build up the fire soon. Have to keep you warm. And I need to dry my boots. Firefoot pushed me into the creek. Don't worry, I filled the bucket before I went in. I think both of us could use a bath, love. Remember that time we went swimming that night by the Westfold? We lay on the bank afterwards and you pointed out every star in the sky. I didn't know they all had names, but you knew them. I don't remember half of them." He rubbed his hands on his thighs. "To be honest, less than that. But I do remember how your eyes lit up when you talked about them."

The one eyelid not swollen shut seemed to flicker. Eomer ignored it, not wanting to give in to false hope again. He reached for the wineskin and took another drink.

"The stars will be out soon, Legolas. I'd take you out to see them, but I don't want to move you unless I have to. Higa should be here with help soon. Then we'll get you set up properly, so you can see them every night if you want. Just stay with me until then." He looked across the low beamed ceiling to a hole in the thatch. "You may be able to see one through our chimney, I guess."

It was a definite flicker of the eyelid, not a trick of the light. Eomer felt his heart leap and kept on talking.

"We'll just stay up all night talking, then, shall we? Like we used to. Once we'd finished the wine and solved all the world's problems. You told me about Mirkwood. How tall the trees grew. The one thing wrong with the Rohan, you said, was the lack of trees. And I told you it was hard to graze herds in forest. But we did plant some by the Westfold. Not quite so windy there. Probably grow into little stumpy trees. But trees none the less! For when you came to visit."

There was a twitch, the corner of the bruised mouth tried to move. Eomer leaned closer. "I'm here, Legolas."

"'Mer," it was a whispered breath. Then a moan of pain. Eomer reached for the cloth he'd kept separate and soaked it in the willow bark tea.

"Don't try to talk! Can you open your mouth a tiny bit? I'll drip some of this in, it should help."

"Wah.." the elf groaned, his lips opening a fraction.

"Yes," Eomer said, his voice low and gentle, "I know you're thirsty. Here." He wrung a few drops into the elf's mouth, waiting a moment, then a few more. "Your mouth is full of dirt and grit, but I didn't want to force your jaw. I think it might be broken. You've got a hell of a gash on your cheek, as well." He dripped a few more drops on Legolas' tongue.

"'Mer," the elf said again, trying to lick his lips. The man wrung more drops into his mouth. The elf's eye flickered open, wandered, trying to focus.

"I know," Eomer said, relief colouring his voice, "it's not the best accommodation in the world. But we'll have you out of here soon. Do you want to try to drink a bit? Just a little, though." He held up the cup.

Pouring a tiny amount of the liquid into Legolas, Eomer watched him try to swallow. Most ran back out the side, but he tried again, gave him a tiny bit more. At the very least his mouth would be wet. Legolas managed to train his eye on the man. Eomer was startled to see anger mingled with the pain in the pale depths.

"Go.." Legolas breathed out. Eomer sucked in his breath against the cold fear in his heart. His eyes filled.

"We're not going anywhere, love. The stars and trees will wait. You just rest up until you're back to yourself."

Legolas closed his eye. "Go.." he groaned.

"Don't you dare!" Eomer shouted, putting his hand against the battered head, his touch as light as that of a moth. "If you ever loved me, if I ever meant anything, you stay here with me! You'll heal, do you hear me!" Hot tears dripped down on the elf's face, causing him to twitch. "I can't lose you again, not like this." He lowered his voice, pleading now, "Please, Legolas. Stay. I need you."

The elf made a low and guttural sound. Eomer wiped his eyes. "You'll heal, Legolas, I promise. Just don't go. Not now."

The elf opened his eye again. The rage softened when he saw Eomer's racked face. "'Mer," he tried again. "Still... love.." It wasn't a question.

Eomer's tears fell again as the elf tried to reach up with his unbroken arm, and the pain took him again. It fell back in the blankets, and Eomer reached beneath them to hold the exhausted hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Legolas was still unconsciousness, his breathing laboured and pained, when Hroth stood up and went to the door of the hut. Firefoot's whinny alerted Eomer to Higa's return. The first light of dawn was falling gently through the empty doorway, pooling into misty purple shadows. Eomer pulled himself up, weary and cramped from hours of crouching over the elf. He had spent the night cooling the elf's brow with cloths and singing, then talking to him with a quiet determination, slipping into a half-daze himself. Once outside, the dewy grass was cold on his bare feet, waking him further. He looked towards the horizon.

In the distance he could see the riders, moving swiftly through the morning brume. The thunder of hooves reassured him, even as he felt the vibrations in the soles of his feet. The jangle of tack and the call of voices came clearly on the still air.

Two riders broke away from the group, urging their mounts to greater speed. Once in sight of the man they slowed, the horses breathing heavily, steaming in the dawn air.

Higa pulled up and dismounted. Eomer blurted out the answer to the question in his friend's eyes before it was asked.

"He lives. He's in great pain, but he still lives." The healer, a tall, spare man in leather armour slid from his horse and entered the hut, barely pausing to nod at the King.

"Offa is the best we have. He's had some experience with elves. Riders are on the way to Gondor and Ithilian. I brought the war band with us." Higa told Eomer, stroking the neck of his tired horse. He looped the reins, slapped the flank, and the horse ambled to the stream.

"Good." Eomer nodded. "I have heard nothing from Halma. But this was done by no wild creature."

"Are you sure? Fierce things have been sighted and killed since Sauron's demise."

"No beast would have humiliated him by shaving his head!" Eomer spat. "That was deliberate. This was the work of someone with knowledge of elves. Even Legolas could be overcome by a large enough group of marauders." He shivered, his bare flesh growing cold in the chilly air.

Higa nodded in reluctant agreement. "Do you hold out any hope for the dwarf?" he asked quietly. Eomer shot a look toward the hut, speaking low.

"None. Legolas would not have left him had he still been alive. Of that I'm sure."

"Perhaps he was taken captive?"

"Legolas would have died tracking them. Gimli was his dearest friend in the world." Higa looked slightly surprised at the certainty in his King's voice, but Eomer's face was calm, save for the light of revenge that fired in the back of his hazel eyes. "When I find the culprits, they will die slowly, I promise you that."

It was with relief he heard Firefoot neigh, greeting the horses of the war party. Eomer was thankful to see Eothain riding at the head of it. Eothain slid from his mount and clasped Eomer by the forearm.

"How is he?" his second asked, horrified by the bloody streaks on Eomer's body, worry on the handsome features. Eomer shook his head.

"Badly off. But there is hope. Once Offa is on his way to Meduseld, we'll find out who is marauding in Fangorn."

Offa appeared in the door frame, his dark head blurred in the predawn shadows. "Eomer King," he called softly. Eomer crossed the few steps to the healer quickly, concern clouding his features. Higa entered the shelter to sit with the elf.

"He is gravely injured, but elves have survived worse," Offa told him, leading the King a little way away. "I tended several after Helm's Deep."

Eomer shuddered, remembering the devastation wrought among the elves in that battle. Few had survived.

"The elves have remarkable recuperative powers," the healer continued. "However it may need to be more than simple physical recovery. King Aragorn was kind enough to explain it to me. If they have taken a spiritual hurt, an injury to their _fea, _it can cause a wound that will never wholly heal. I fear that the loss of Gimli may be more than his spirit can bear. That friendship was so much deeper than any other."

Eomer caught his breath. "What can I do?" he asked in a cracked voice.

Offa looked at him steadily. "It may be a kindness to let him go," he said simply. "Other than that, we continue as you have begun. Rest, care and time must suffice. Perhaps King Aragorn will have some deeper knowledge that will help."

"Eomer King!" Higa called gently from the ruins. "He's fretting. I think he's calling you, it's hard to tell, he can't speak."

With a grim look at Eothain, Eomer followed Offa into the hut. Legolas had a single eye open again, panic visible through the pain. Eomer knelt beside the elf, reaching to touch the face gingerly. Relief filled the eye.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Rest. Offa will take you to Meduseld. We'll put you up in the King's Chamber, get you well again. He and Higa will give you the best we have to offer. Eothain, Halma and I are heading back into the forest. We will bring whoever did this to you to justice."

Legolas looked at him with anger. "Nnhh," he mumbled, struggling to move under his blankets. He twisted his head to the side violently, breaking open the bandages, allowing the blood to start running again. Eomer reached for a cloth and gently sponged it. Legolas twisted away from him.

"What?" Eomer asked softly. "You have to get well. I can take care of whatever is in Fangorn."

The elf twisted again, lips pressed together, fighting the groan of pain that tried to escape. His eye settled on Eomer once again, seething with fury.

"Eomer King," Offa said quietly. "Perhaps it would be better if you accompanied the Prince to Meduseld. I believe it would ease his mind."

Legolas grunted and looked at the healer, grateful for the comprehension, agreement replacing the fury. Eomer stared at him. "Without clearing out Fangorn? Without finding Gimli?" he spat.

Offa pulled at Eomer's shoulder, as the elf's face went blank. He closed his eye and stopped his exertions. The sudden stillness frightened the King.

"Legolas, no!" he called, gently stroking the neck, "Don't!"

The healer pushed the man out of the way, feeling for the pulse at the neck, gently opening the eyelid to inspect the eye. He took a clean cloth and began to cool the forehead, murmuring soothing words in a low voice. Satisfied, he signalled to Higa to take his place and stood up.

"A private word, Eomer King?" he asked.

Eomer stormed out of the hut, followed by the healer. "I need to find out who did this!" he said, spinning around to face Offa. The venom in his voice caused the others, busy with caring for the horses, setting up the litter that would transport the elf, preparing food, to stare at him.

"He," and Offa's emphasis was deliberate, "needs you to be with him. And he needs you calm. Not opening up more wounds."

Eomer rocked back on his heels, conscious of the stares of the others. "I didn't mean it like that," he snapped.

Offa was crisp and official. "You may not have the temperament for nursing, Eomer King, but that elf is depending on you. For whatever reason, he is anchoring his spirit to you. Do not abandon him. Or we may as well bury him here."

Such plain speaking stunned Eomer. He looked about, but the others were suddenly busy shaking out the fur blankets for the litter, checking the harness. Eothain went into the shelter with rocks to heat, studiously avoiding Eomer's eyes. The King felt utterly ashamed, and bent his head, strands of his hair falling forward, hiding the hot flush on his cheeks.

"We shall rest the horses for a while, Lord King." Offa continued in the same blunt voice. "I would prefer not to move the patient until the sun is higher in the sky. The morning damp may prove uncomfortable to him. He must be kept warm and quiet. You and I shall ride beside him at all times, and if necessary, we will stop. It will be a long journey, my Lord, for he can not be jostled about like a sack of grain!"

Eomer, head still bent in contrition, nodded. "That is the best course, then, Offa?"

"Either that or we rebuild this hut and spend the winter here. I'd rather not, though, much as I don't want to move him."

Eomer looked up at him in shock. "Would that be best for him?" he asked, horror in his voice. "The ride here was rough. Did that make things worse?"

The healer shook his dark head. "I cannot say. I promise you, my Lord, we will care for him as gently as if he were home in his own bed. That he is still alive is the best hope we have. But you must be with him."

Eomer fought down the rage at his impotence. "I should be out there, looking for whoever did this! He would not leave Gimli! At least I can bring his body back, perhaps that will give him some peace."

Offa reached out and gripped the King by the forearm. Eomer looked at him, chewing his lip in fury. Offa's dark eyes were kind and sympathetic.

"Lord King, he knows what happened to the dwarf. It is we who are ignorant. Eothain and Halma will clear out the refuse responsible for this barbarity and bring you their heads on their pikes. Legolas needs you." The stress was soft on the word. "Come, wash, eat, have some wine and return to him."

Eomer turned and began to walk to the stream, motioning for the healer to follow. They passed horses drinking, men filling water bags. Upstream a way from the commotion, Eomer bent down and splashed cold water on his tired eyes, his hot cheeks. Then he looked up at the healer.

"There are some things about this that you may not be aware of." he began, finding himself unsure of how to explain. "Before he and Gimli left, that last time, well, he and I," he stammered.

Offa crouched down beside his exhausted King. "Most people were aware of the relationship, my Lord. It need not trouble you."

"I know that!" Eomer said, shaking his head. Tendrils of filthy hair blew across his eyes and he pushed them away, irritably. "That's not it at all. What most people do not know is the reason the relationship ended."

Offa pulled a clean cloth out of a belt pouch and handed it to Eomer, who began to wipe his face with it. "You may depend on my discretion."

"We had a, well, a misunderstanding. Gimli was part of it. I handled things badly." He sighed ruefully. "It was a mess. Now, if I take him home, without even looking for Gimli," he choked on the name, "how can I face him?"

"Trust him", Offa said, simply. "He knows. If, as you believe, the dwarf is dead, it is you he is staying for. He will need all your strength until he regains his own." He cupped his hand a took a drink from the stream, flicking the water from his fingers when he finished. "Love is never easy, Lord King."

Eomer looked steadily at the dark haired man beside him. Then he dipped the cloth in the stream again and began washing. "Go back to him, tell Higa to stay with him until I return. It won't take long to get Eothain organized."

The healer stood up. "Of course, my Lord."

"One other thing, Offa," Eomer said, wiping the back of his neck. "You call me Eomer."

Eomer dressed quickly in the spare clothes Higa had brought with them, pulling his now dry boots back on. While he ate quickly with Eothain and his lieutenant, he set plans in motion for scouring Fangorn.

"Whoever it is, Eothain, do your best to bring them in alive. If you can't, their heads will do. Send riders as often as you can." He took a deep drink of wine from the skin. "When," he uttered sadly, "you find Gimli's body, treat him with all due honour. Legolas will decide what to do for him then."

Eothain nodded sadly, remembering the dwarf fondly. "What of the Ents, Eomer? What has happened to them, that such things can happen in their wood?"

Eomer swore under his breath. "I don't know, Eothain. Whatever you do, try not to piss off the trees. You were at Helm's Deep."

As Eomer was a leader who controlled his men as easily as he controlled his horses, Eothain was soon ready to depart. He saluted, as the war band made it's way toward the unknown menace threatening Fangorn. Eomer returned the salute, nodded to the men who would escort the patient back to Meduseld, and entered the hut, feeling as if he could now give the elf all his attention.

"He hasn't stirred, Eomer." Higa said, shifting to make room for the King between the elf and the dog. "His breathing is pretty rough though." Offa continued to mix powders in a cup, checking the water on the fire.

"Legolas?" Eomer whispered, leaning over the still figure. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand. Of course I'm coming with you. I thought I was doing the right thing before, but I understand now. I hope you do too. Got a lovely litter set up for you, comfortable fur blankets, you can sleep the whole way home." He savoured the word. Yes, home. For a while.

The elf's breathing seemed to ease. Offa, put down his cup and gently felt the pulse at the neck, nodded and motioned with his other hand for Eomer to continue talking. Higa excused himself, taking used bandages with him.

Eomer glanced at Offa, his brow furrowing, then sighed and decided the healer was to be completely trusted.

"Whatever you need me to do, love, I'll do. Please don't ask me to ride in the litter, though, I was in one once before when I broke my leg and I hated it. You'll love it, though. No worries, no stress. Besides, I don't think we'd both fit in there. They didn't have elves in mind when it was built. But you'll be able to see the stars tonight, if you're awake. It looks like we're taking the scenic route home. You'll like the room, still got the tapestries you chose the last time you were there, I didn't have the heart to take them down. I guess I was still hoping you'd come back. I know now that you would have, and Gimli too..." he broke off. Offa shook his head.

Eomer gulped and groped for another subject.

"I'll have Arod brought to Meduseld. You'll be glad to see him when you're up and about. Hroth is here, he's won't leave your side. He's missed you. We'll go look at those trees, too. But first you have to get well. Rest, heal. I'll be here to look after you all the time."

Offa nodded in approval as the elf's brutalized face seemed to relax. He returned to his potions, turning his back on Eomer and the elf.

Eomer gently replaced the cloth on Legolas' forehead, then bent down and softly kissed an uncovered patch of skin.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Offa was meticulous in splinting the broken bones, running his skilled hands over bruised flesh, bathing the great welts and cuts on the back, stitching the cheek back together, feeling for the internal injuries he feared. The elf was unresponsive, taking himself away to that place where the pain was bearable. Eomer hovered like a distracted chicken, handing things to Offa, lighting every lamp he could find in the temporary camp, trying to anticipate what the healer would need. Finally Offa had had enough.

"Eomer," he said, catching the man's eye. "Go outside. Check the horses, brush that grey monster of yours, play dice with Higa, I don't care! In the past year alone, I have set more bones than you have in your entire body! I can do this. I will call you in when I'm done. You are not helping." He smiled, to take the sting from his words, and then turned back to his patient, dismissing Eomer entirely. Even faithful Hroth turned his back on the King, lying out of the healer's way instinctively, the eyes never leaving the bandaged face.

Eomer, offended, stalked from the hut, grumbling about healers, bones, ungrateful dogs and the world in general. Higa, leaving the group tending the horses, offered himself as sacrifice to Eomer's temper, sending Lothar in to assist with the splinting instead.

"First he tells me to stay with him," Eomer sputtered. "Then he sends me out like a stable hand. And we are walking, mind you, _walking_, all the way home," he muttered, his boots tearing up bits of the turf as he strode. Higa smiled behind his beard.

"Offa is the best healer in Meduseld, Eomer," Higa replied, trying to calm his friend. One flash of the dark eyes told him it was impossible, but he tried anyway. "After Helm's Deep, he studied everything about elves he could find. You couldn't ask for a better man."

"I wish he'd make up his mind," Eomer stormed back. "Am I helping? Or am I staying out of the way? Do I just flop around, waiting to upset Legolas, or move him the wrong way or paint pretty fancies with words to distract him? I should have gone to Fangorn."

Higa sighed at his King's frustration. "You are doing what needs to be done. At least, you are going to learn patience from this, if nothing else. And you're exhausted. Why don't you stretch out somewhere and grab a quick nap."

Eomer spent the time getting things ready for the trip instead. His mind and heart would not let his body rest. The men, used to the tempestuous outbursts of their leader, went on calmly with tasks Eomer assigned them twice or three times. When Offa called him back in, his temper was precarious, but he was back under control.

"If everything is ready, we can move him to the litter and start. He hasn't woken, and I don't think he will for some time. Rest is the best cure for him. But we must take it easy."

Legolas, splinted, salved and bandaged to Offa's satisfaction, had been wrapped in warm blankets and tucked into furs. The late autumn chill was further warded off by the boxlike litter's heavy curtains, which could be pulled back to allow the elf to watch the sky, if he were awake and the air was warm enough.

Traversing the rolling grasslands, the heavy litter hung between horses trained years before to match their paces for such emergencies. Eomer pushed the worries that creased his brow to the back of his mind and tried to give himself over to the journey, not the destination.

Offa rode to the right of Legolas, carefully moving the drapes aside to check his patient from time to time. Eomer was worried the elf's stoicism would prevent him from crying out if the pain became to great or he was jostled. He stayed to the left, eventually unable to stay awake, he dozed in the saddle, trusting Firefoot completely. Hroth followed the litter, careful to stay out of the way of the horses.

As the day was bright with sunshine, and the horses well trained, they continued on with only short stops. Early evening brought a longer rest, complete with hot food and wine. Offa opened the curtains and examined the injured elf, feeling for the pulse, lifting blankets to check for any fresh spotting of blood on the bandaging. Legolas slept on, oblivious to the travel, the inspection, anything. Hroth circled a few times and settled beneath the litter, closing his eyes. This seemed to satisfy Offa, who muttered to himself, replaced the draperies, and sat down beside Eomer, who offered him the wineskin. Offa took a deep draught, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, and reached for the plate Higa offered him.

"How is he?" Eomer asked quietly. His gaze strayed again and again to the covered conveyance, his food barely touched.

"Better than I had hoped. I think we should stop for the night, however, and keep him still and warm. I should change the poultice on his face as well. You can't be too careful when eyes are involved. We'll put up the shelter tent, keep rocks heating to tuck in around him."

Eomer sighed. "I could almost wish he were awake. He loves travelling, and the weather has been perfect today."

"It's better for him this way." Offa replied, taking more bread. He dipped it into the stew. "I don't think he's aware of the pain while he sleeps. It has something to do with how they dream, I believe."

"What if the wounds go bad? It happens so often."

"Luckily, that doesn't seem to be a complication for elves. We'll keep them clean and trust to his body to heal." He looked up at the king. "It's going to take a long time, I won't lie to you about that."

Eomer pulled up some browning grass, spun it in his fingers, and flicked it to fly away in the ever present wind. He watched it's spiral path through the gathering dusk.

"What if the soul wound goes bad?" he asked, trusting the healer enough to give voice to the fear that taunted him.

"Borrow trouble closer to home, Eomer King." Offa said, between mouthfuls. "He's still alive. That's our best hope right now."

Hroth leaped to his feet and barked. A low groan from the litter brought Eomer and Offa to their feet in an instant, plates scattered. They rushed to the litter, the placid horses standing stolidly, and immediately drew back the fabric. Legolas' unbandaged eye was open, and he blinked against the bright slant of sunset. Offa stepped to the side, draping the elf in shadow. Legolas sighed and tried to speak. Offa shook his head.

"Try not to talk, my Lord. You have stitches in the cheek and have cracked your jaw, and it must be kept still."

Legolas forced his lips to move slightly. "'Mer," he said, slurring the diminutive. Eomer bent his head closer. Offa sighed and motioned Eomer to take his place.

"You heard Offa, love. Don't make things worse. You're doing better, he tells me. We'll be stopping here for the night, to let you rest and change some of your dressings. I hope it's not too bad. I don't want you to force yourself to stay awake to see the night sky either. We'll watch the stars together at Meduseld."

Legolas sighed and winced. "Dry," he forced out. Eomer nodded and turned to the healer.

"Offa! He's thirsty! Can he drink? Should I help him up?"

Offa returned with a cup and reed straw. "No, let him stay flat. Here, my Lord, see if you can sip a bit through this. Not too much, though." He lowered the cup and placed the straw between the bruised lips. Legolas sucked at it greedily. Eomer watched with all the concern of a mother with a sickly newborn, willing each drop into the elf's mouth. After a few sips, the healer removed the cup.

"That's much better, my Lord," Offa said softly. "Please, don't try to talk, but blink once for yes and twice for no. I have a few questions I must ask, but I'll be as quick as I can." Legolas concentrated and blinked slowly.

"Is the pain worse?" Blink, blink. "About the same?" Blink. "Is your vision blurred?" Blink. "Pain in the back of the head?" Blink. "Feeling dizzy?" Blink. Offa nodded. "One more thing, my Lord. Do you know how long it was before you were found?" Blink blink.

"Thank you, my Lord. Please do not try to stay awake, let your body heal. We shall be resting here, but while we are travelling don't be ashamed to call out. I understand the pride of warriors, my Lord, I am one myself, but if the pain increases, please make some noise. You are grievously hurt, and I need to know the instant things change."

Offa inclined his head and moved off. Legolas concentrated on Eomer again.

"You had better make noise in there," Eomer warned him. "This is not the time to be a hero."

Legolas blinked twice. Eomer stared at him. "Is that, 'No, 'Mer, this isn't the time to be a hero', or is that 'No, 'Mer, I'm strong enough to take this." Legolas didn't blink. Eomer groaned. "That was a dumb question, wasn't it?" Blink.

Sweet Eru, he's joking with me, Eomer thought. The bruised lips moved again.

"Hurt," he grunted. "Bad."

Eomer reached in and caressed the cheek gently, fingertips barely grazing the bandages.

"It'll get better, love. You're alive, that's what matters. Offa's probably drugged that drink he gave you, and you'll be off in dreamland again in no time. We're making this trip in easy stages, maybe you'll be up and around when we get back." Legolas blinked slowly.

"I was kidding," Eomer told him. "You had better be, too."

"Stay," Legolas said, with groggy and fuzzy edge to his voice. "'Mer."

Eomer reached in among the blankets and found the bandaged hand. He held it gently. "Not all the horses in the Rohan could drag me away from you now," he told the elf. The corner of Legolas' lip pulled up slightly, then his face tightened as the dry skin cracked.

Eomer bent down to gently kiss the corner of the mouth, a kiss as light as the sweep of an eyelash. "Stop talking so much, I can't get a word in edgewise," he murmured. "Go back to sleep, Legolas. I'm here. Sleep is best." Legolas closed his eye, his face falling back into lines of peacefulness.

Eomer stood still, ignoring the rock under the sole of his boot, the hair whipping his eyes, the dog circling him. He gazed at the bandaged face with inexplicable joy. A few moments later, Offa returned.

"He's sleeping again? Good. Eomer King, we should get the tents set up, move the litter into one of them. You can sleep there with him, I'll watch him, if you don't mind. He does have concussion as well, so I'll have to time his pain mixture."

Eomer refused to loose the limp hand in his grasp. "I'll stay with him. And I told you to leave off the King when you speak to me." His hazel gaze locked onto the dark eyes of the healer. "I owe you a great debt, and am proud to call you friend. We shall be spending quite a bit of time together in the future, I think."

Offa smiled. "No debt, Eomer. It is what I do. When King Aragorn arrives, his skills will understandably be more needed than mine."

"Yours will be no less welcome, Offa. I'm very serious about this, I am in your debt."

Higa had organized the erection of the tents, and the men quickly and carefully unslung the litter from it's harness and carried it gently into the tent. The curtains were pulled back, the cooled rocks exchanged for hot ones, and Offa checked the patient once again. Eomer, sitting beside the litter on a pile of blankets realized he was exhausted. Hroth came and lay beside him, laying the great head in his lap. He reached down to scratch the dogs ears absently.

"Sleep, Eomer. I will call you if he wakes," Offa told him, gathering his materials to change the poultices. Eomer heard Firefoot nicker softly, communicating with the herd as it settled to graze.

"Of course," Eomer said, his eyes closing even as he lay back on the pallet.

Offa didn't need to wake Eomer, Legolas' screams did that. Eomer was instantly alert,leaning over the elf, his eyes searching in the gloom of the lamplight for the cause. Outside the horses whinnied, upset by the cries. Legolas, eyes shut and mouth contorted, was whimpering in terror, joined by the dog.

Eomer fought the urge to gather the elf in his arms and cradle him. He spoke softly, reassuringly, as Offa turned up the lamps and reached for a small bottle. He tipped a few drops into a cup of water and got the straw.

"I'm here, you're safe," Eomer kept repeating, as though it were a charm for the elf. It seemed to do no good.

"See if you can wake him," Offa said, touching the neck, checking a pulse that beat so rapidly Eomer could see the flutter.

"Legolas, love, come back to me," Eomer sobbed unconsciously. "Let us help you." He stroked the bandaged arm.

In the bright lamp light, the eyelid flickered. The broken body twisted beneath the blankets. The moans softened, then turned to sobs. Offa watched the struggle across the elf's face as he tried to stop them. Legolas turned toward Eomer's voice, and a tiny spark of recognition returned to the elf's eye. He sobbed, then moaned again.

"Is it the pain? Worse again?" Eomer asked. There was a hesitant blink. Offa held the cup out.

"Give him this, it will calm him and help with the pain."

Legolas sipped until he'd finished the contents. His eye focused on the healer. "'Better," he muttered.

"Please, my Lord, try not to talk." Offa said, almost automatically. Legolas turned to look back at Eomer.

"Sore," he said. His voice dropped to a barely audible rasp. "Scared."

The whisper was so low Eomer barely heard it. Then he bent down to kiss the bandaged face. "It's okay," he told Legolas, straightening up.

"Offa", Eomer said, struggling with the panels at the side of the litter, "Help me with this."

Offa stared for moment, then realized what Eomer was trying to do. "Yes, of course."

They pulled down the hinged panels and piled Eomer's blankets on the open side.

"I'm right here," he murmured, laying down Legolas' line of sight. "Right here." Legolas blinked once, languidly, as the potion began it's work and the terror receded .

"Touch him, Eomer, let him feel you there." Offa whispered. "Until he drops off again. Sometimes that helps."

Eomer did so, gently stroking the shoulder nearest him, surprised at the warmth radiating from the elf. Legolas began to breathe deeply. "'Mer," he whispered softly, closing the eye and going to sleep.

"Sweet Eru, Offa," Eomer whispered, looking up at the healer's dark face. "He's got the Horrors!"

"Yes, Eomer, he does," the healer responded calmly, filling another cup and handing it to the prone king. Eomer leaned up on his elbow to accept it, looked quizzically at Offa, then downed it. He took a few deep breaths and pushed down the icy fear in his guts, helped by the warmth of the strong wine.

"He's never been afraid of anything!" he whispered to the healer. "What is there for him to fear?"

"Whatever did this to him, Eomer. It's another injury."

"Can you stop it? Aren't there potions, herbs, something?"

Offa looked seriously at Eomer. "I can keep him calm and mostly asleep until we reach Edoras. But he will have to heal from the Horrors as well as his other injuries. If he can't, the best herbs in the world will merely mask it."

Eomer's eyes were round with fear. "Will he ever get over it?" They both knew of men, taken by the Battle Horror, who never returned, who lived their lives as half men, hard drinkers, herb takers, loners, never seeming to recover themselves completely.

"We can hope so, but there is another complication. If we keep him sedated for the journey, we will lose that much more time in discovering what happened to Gimli. We can't ask him to tell us anything, at least until he's stronger."

Eomer was not a man who hid his emotions easily. Offa saw the entire gamut run across the kings face, fear, shock, pain, loss, love and finally decision.

"That is your opinion, Healer?" he asked formally.

Offa noted the change in voice. "Eomer King, I recommend that we do everything we can to keep him alive. When we get to Meduseld, he will hopefully be stronger and we will be better able to care for him."

Eomer nodded. "Then let him sleep as much of the time as he can."

Offa nodded. Eomer yawned, and realized that his wine had been enhanced as well. Offa looked at him steadily.

"You need to sleep just as much as he does, Lord King." It was unapologetic, a statement of fact.

Eomer looked at the man and laughed, a short bark. Legolas stirred slightly, Eomer reached over to stroke the bandaged face gently. Then he lay back and looked at the healer.

"Offa, I hereby appoint you Chief Healer to the King and his family." Eomer closed his eyes and drifted off again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Eomer woke with an unfamiliar weight across his chest. Hroth lay across him, his nose touching the blankets that wrapped the elf. Offa was stretching himself, the healer having lightly dozed in a sitting position through the night. Eomer's sleep had been deep and he felt better than he had in weeks. He pushed the dog off his chest. Hroth sniffed him once, satisfied that he was awake, and padded out of the tent.

Legolas stirred and Offa was instantly beside him, silently assessing the elf. He nodded to Eomer and fetched the potion he'd prepared in the night, carefully measuring some into a cup of water.

Legolas opened his eye, saw Eomer gazing at him, and smiled, before his torn and broken face protested. Eomer looked at him, watching the pain flit across the unbandaged areas before the stoicism took over again.

"Morning, love," Eomer whispered huskily. "Feeling better, I hope,"

Legolas made an unintelligible noise. Eomer sat up and reached for the cup Offa held out. He twisted the straw around and held it to the elf's lips. Legolas drank more easily today. Allowed more liquid, he relished it, taking his time instead of finishing the drink quickly.

"May I?" Offa asked, as Eomer moved out of the way allowing the healer to check the elf. He examined the eye, felt the pulse, rested a cool hand on the visible skin on the forehead. He ran through his questions once again, noting that the dizziness seemed to have passed, and the vision was starting to clear.

The healer nodded, pleased with the results, when the elf tried to pronounce his name. Through mangled lips it came out "Faa."

The dark eyes of the healer fixed on the pale one of the elf, giving him his complete attention. Legolas concentrated on the word he needed to say.

"Blind?" he rasped. Eomer started in horror, but the healer remained professional.

"I don't think so. Your other eye was injured and has been bandaged. There is no reason for taking chances with it while we travel. The vision in your good eye should be cleared up in the next day or two." The elf stared at him, almost as if he didn't believe the diagnosis. He forced words out.

"Woke. No light. Thought blind." A shudder convulsed him. "'Thought _dead_." Eomer felt cold chills down his spine, freezing him. Offa gently touched the elf's head, never losing eye contact with him.

"No, my Lord. You are very much alive. You have been seriously injured." Legolas stared at the man, confusion clouding his vision.

"How?" the elf groaned.

Eomer looked at Offa, stunned, but the healer never looked away from his patient.

"There was an accident, my Lord. Eomer is taking you to Meduseld, and we will do our best to get you there comfortably. The best thing for you right now is sleep. Don't try to talk to much, the medicine for the pain will make you very tired."

Legolas seemed satisfied with this.

"Thanks" he whispered. Offa nodded, stroked the forehead gently, and excused himself.

"That went well," Eomer told him, forcing the terror from his eyes, stretching himself, trying to smile. He reached out and caressed the side of the elf's face reassuringly. "Maybe you'll even be able to eat something soon."

Legolas twitched a lip. "Wanna.." he started.

Eomer interrupted, trying to provide the answers. "Wine? Tea? It'll probably be broth."

The eye flashed at him. "Wanna.." he began again, and this time Eomer was silent, allowing Legolas to finish. "Bath," he groaned.

Eomer stared at him and then began to laugh. Legolas glared at him some more. "I don't think we brought the tub," Eomer chuckled, "and Offa is not about to let me dunk you into the river."

The eye was not amused, and it took Eomer a moment to work it out. "I'll see what we can do, love. I did wash you, myself, night before last."

A twinkle in the eye this time, taking in the state of the man, dirt and bits of dried blood still caked to his hairline, his beard. The lip tried not to smile, lost. "Bath, 'Mer. Please.."

Offa, returning to the tent, had been true to his word and the elf began to slip back into the grip of the powerful medication. He seemed to realize what was happening and fought against it.

"No.." he protested, sleepily. "No more..."

Shh, love." Eomer said soothingly. "Rest. We'll take care of everything. It's easier for you if you sleep."

Eyelid drooping, it took only seconds for Legolas to drift off again.

Eomer began to question the healer about the elf's ignorance of his injuries, but Offa waved him silent. "Later" he whispered, motioning to the sleeping patient.

Eomer explained the bath situation, as they lowered the other side of the litter, and Offa began a more thorough examination.

"Of course, we'll take care of that," Offa said, no trace of a smile on his thin lips. "It's actually a good sign. It will be good for him to have a proper bath when the wounds are completely healed over. The warm water will relax the muscles. It may help the weals on the back as well."

Eomer, having learned his lesson the day before and determined not to be dismissed again followed Offa's directions, as they washed the elf, changed dressings, checked the splints and bundled him up again in fresh linen and blankets. Hroth returned, sniffed the elf several times, as if inspecting their work, then huffed gently and lay down beside the litter.

"I'm glad we have his approval," Eomer said. "I think he's more worried than I am."

"I don't know, but I might rather have him on his stomach tonight. I don't want too much pressure on those cuts on his back."

"What caused them? Eomer asked. "Can you tell."

"It doesn't make any sense. It looks like he's been beaten with branches. How can that be? What could swing a branch with that much force? To break the ribs? Did he fall from the top of a tree, through the limbs?"

"He doesn't fall out of trees, Offa."

"I don't understand it."

"Nor do I. But I intend to." Eomer offered, opening the tent flap to call for Higa. The smell of bacon and coffee in the morning sunshine made him realize how hungry he was.

"Why doesn't he know what happened to him?" Eomer asked, as Higa settled beside the sleeping elf, Hroth allowing him to take up the post. They strode to the campfire, filling plates with hot bread and bacon.

"Shock." Offa answered, filling his mug and drinking the steaming coffee with satisfaction. "There is only so much the mind can deal with at one time. All his energy must go to healing his body, so his mind will block out the other pain. He may never remember exactly what happened, it may all come back to him in a rush."

"So he may not have the Horrors at all?" Eomer asked, with hope in his voice.

Offa put his plate down, refilled his mug. "I think that whatever caused these injuries was traumatic enough to give the Horrors to old Gandalf himself. I don't want to give you false hope, Eomer. He may recover without them, but once the realization Gimli is gone hits him, I think it will set back whatever progress he's made to that point"

He sipped the hot coffee, looking out at the bright autumn sky. The rustle of horses being prepared for the day soothed them both, a regular sound of life in this most unusual circumstance.

"This isn't going to be easy for you, Eomer. I think you should know that at the beginning. I have seen this before, the relief that the patient will live seems to make any obstacle seem like nothing at all. It will not be easy for either of you and I want you to know that I am always available to you, any time, day or night, to help. Not just with him," and he gestured to the tent where the elf slept, "but for you."

Eomer looked at him blankly, then realized what Offa was saying, the magnitude of the task before them.

"Thank you," he said, simply and sincerely. They finished their food in silence, watching the wind blow the grasses in browning waves.

Leaving Offa to go and pack his medicines, Eomer spoke to Lothar, the other men in the escort gathering around. He explained the scream in the night, whispering the dreaded words, "the Horrors".

Every man there knew personally or of someone who had suffered from the debility. Pity was mirrored on the faces of the group, all of whom knew and liked the elf. They offered their support to Eomer and Legolas. Eomer, grateful for the kindness, nodded silently. He then went in search of Firefoot.

The big grey came at his whistle, leaving the remuda to nuzzle his rider. Eomer stroked the nose, scratched the ears and patted the flank. Satisfied that Eomer was well, Firefoot returned to the herd.

He ducked back into the tent, noticing how much warmer it was inside. He looked in on Legolas, who slept with his head slightly cantered to one side, taking the pressure off his mutilated ear. The big dog looked up at him once, then returned to his watch.

Offa came and stood behind him. "He's deeply asleep, now. We can move him as soon as the tents are packed up."

They broke camp quickly, not a difficult feat for a people who travelled with their herds. Eomer swung himself into the saddle, wishing they could gallop to Edoras, wishing Aragorn or Eowyn were there, wishing he had word from Halma, wishing he knew what to do.

When Halma's rider caught up with the convoy, his horse was exhausted, his face pale. He accepted a wineskin, pulling back on it heavily, then shuddered.

"What have you found?" Eomer demanded.

"My lord, we found the campsite. It had been destroyed, completely, there was" he shuddered again, "blood everywhere. It must have been an ambush, for there was no sign of defence or anything like that. There remains of a meal were scattered around the fire."

"Gimli! Did you find him?" Eomer asked, pale.

"We found this, my lord." The rider, handed a small box to Eomer. Then he turned and vomited up the wine.

Eomer opened the chest, to see part of the gloved hand of the dwarf. It had been ripped away from the wrist.

"The search continues, Eomer King, but Halma wanted you informed immediately. Whatever did this, it is barbaric!"

"Are the dogs no help?" Eomer asked. "Surely they can follow the trail."

"They seem confused. The trail itself is unusual. In one area there will be blood sign, then nothing for far too long, then blood again. Patches of earth torn up, branches down, then nothing for a while."

"What of the Ents? Any sign of them?"

"None, lord. Eothain is also searching for them, hoping they may know something."

"If something that horrible is walking Fangorn, I'm sure they do know something. Tell Halma and Eothain to scour every inch of that cursed place! If we have to, we'll burn it to the ground. That'll get Treebeard's attention."

Offa examined the hand, his eyes widening slightly, but it did not sicken him.

"It hasn't been cut or chewed," he said. "This has been torn right away. See how the leather itself has been ripped." He studied it with puzzled eyes. Eomer, watched in horrified fascination as he turned it over. Bits of twig were caught in the fingers of the glove.

"I still don't understand it," he told the king, putting the hand respectfully back in the box, wrapping it in cloth.

"We will, Offa." Eomer told him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

During the long walk, Firefoot's big hooves thudding on each step in a gently rhythm, lulling him, Eomer turned over in his mind what could have caused the damage to the dwarf and elf.

If it had not been for the shorn head of the elf, he could well have believed some wild and fell beast had slipped away when Sauron had been destroyed, and was ravaging in Fangorn. That would fit with the damage done to the elf and explain how the dwarf had been overcome. Knowing the prowess of both Legolas and Gimli in battle, he assumed it would have to be a beast of fantastic size and ferocity, but a beast nonetheless.

He would not fall out of a tree, but Legolas could be knocked down or pulled out of one. That might account for the wounds on his back, the broken bones. Fighting down a spasm of guilt, he wondered just what Gimli's corpse looked like. It might give him some insight to what they faced.

The hair, on the other hand, was a deliberate insult, a humiliation. That signified cunning and intelligence. And hands. Elves never cut their hair, it grew so slowly that it took ages to get to any decent length. A head full of long and luxuriant hair was a symbol, of maturity, virility, desirability. For Legolas to have submitted to having his head shaved meant that he was either desperately trying to save Gimli, or he'd been unconscious of it when it happened. He'd never have sacrificed his hair for his own life.

Eomer came from a culture that understood honour and humiliation. He'd watched his family fall into traps set by it, choosing a path of honour rather than practicality Eomer saw things a little differently. As Malwyn, his sometime nurse, always friend and mentor used to tell him, "Sing over the dead, Eomer, lad, but fight like hell for the living!" He was bothered that he was here, on this slow plod back to Edoras, while the search went on in Fangorn.

Legolas was living, but Eomer had no doubt that Gimli had joined his forefathers. Legolas had pulled himself up that tree, limb by bloody limb, to die.

There was a definite bite in the wind now. Eomer shivered and signaled to Offa, riding over to the healer's side.

"We'll stop for a bit. I want you to make sure the rocks are still warm. We'll heat up a few more, and I'll send some of the riders ahead to set up camp a few hours walk ahead. That way the tent will be warm when we get him there."

Offa nodded, looking up at the still blue sky. "We can pray the weather holds a few more days."

"What if it breaks?" Eomer asked. "Or we get a frost?"

"We keep going. Unless we get a deluge or an early blizzard."

Eomer studied the landscape around them, the sweep of the gentle hills, the long grass turning brittle and bronze in the autumn chill.

"Two more days ought to get us there?"

"If nothing goes wrong."

Eomer called Lothar to him. The man's bay cantered, tired of the slow walk. "I need you to get to Meduseld quickly, but don't kill the horse. She looks like she's ready for a good run. Take a message to Malwyn for me. Tell her to get ready for the fight of her life!"

Lothar, familiar with the chatelaine's attitude, smiled at him. "I'll let her know, Eomer."

Legolas did not wake during the day. Eomer was concerned, but took heart from Hroth's placid position beside the litter. Offa explained that the drug he was using on the elf would make him sleep long and deep, keeping pain far from him. That night, the elf opened his eyes for a few moments.

"There you are," Eomer said, relief in his voice. "I've been waiting for you."

"Dreams," the elf said, fuzzily. "Arod...grass...running." He focused on the man. "'Mer, leg?"

"Broken, love," the man told him calmly. "But you'll be swinging back up on Arod in no time. Or outrunning him, if that takes your fancy."

"Outrun..." the elf moaned, panic filling his eye. Eomer gently touched the bandaged face.

"You don't have to outrun a thing, love. You're in the middle of an armed camp. Nothing can touch you here."

The elf closed his eye, sleep overpowering him once again. Eomer studied the face. What had the elf tried to run from?

Eomer, resigned that he could not rush them on to Meduseld or sprint back to Halma, spent a good hour grooming Firefoot, going over the horse minutely, talking softly the whole time. Firefoot, alert to the mood of his master, stood quietly, occasionally nuzzling Eomer.

"I don't understand any of it," Eomer said. "What could do this, what could leave a trail like that? Where is Gimli?" The thought of pieces of Gimli appearing over the next year, piecemeal, like parts of a puzzle horrified him.

Lothar returned the next morning, on a fresh horse, catching up with them as they broke camp.

"You're making good time, Eomer, but you might need to pick up the pace a little. There's storm clouds coming. Malwyn said she's ready for anything, she's got the Hall in uproar. She's got them scrubbing the King's Chamber inch by inch, every lambskin in Edoras is piled on your bed, bandages and evil smelling potions stocked and standing by. Eru help us all, I think she's even trying to make lembas."

Eomer laughed at that. Malwyn was a treasure. She'd spent her life in Meduseld, sometimes a cook, sometimes a nurse, taking over whatever job needed her energy and determination. She'd worked her way through all of them, and understood the workings of the hall better than he did himself. Since Eowyn's departure with Faramir, she was the unofficial and undisputed mistress, running things with a firm and practised hand, a delicious sense of humour and unbounded compassion.

"Did you mention the Horrors?" Eomer asked, in a tight whisper.

Lothar met his eyes with a steady gaze. "She was with Eotha till the last, Eomer. I doubt there's much about them she doesn't know."

Eomer sighed. "I can't wait to talk to her."

The wind picked up in the night, and the morning brought a white crusting of delicate frost to the grass. Eomer saw his breath as he poured his steaming coffee into his battered mug. Hot rocks and warmed furs were tucked around the elf, the litter the last thing to be moved. Offa looked at the sky, alarmed by the grey clouds, the metallic tang in the air.

"We have to chance it, Offa," Eomer said. "It's going to rain at best, but it smells like sleet to me."

Offa nodded gravely. "We'll walk faster. I'm not going to move them into a trot. If worst comes to worst, we wrap the tent around the litter."

Eomer would remember the nightmare slowness of that last day with horror. He willed the ground to move beneath the horses hooves, watching the litter swing gently, straining to hear the scream from the elf swathed inside. That it never came seemed to make things worse.

Malwyn met them on the steps of Meduseld, her skirts streaming in the freezing wind. Her boots rapped sharply on the stone as she strode down, her long hair tied back. Eomer was ready to collapse with the exhaustion of nerves strained to the breaking point. Malwyn took over at that point, sending the king into the hall for wine, decicing with Offa on the best course of action. If she could have managed it, she would have had the horses brought right up the steps. The sleet had started, and the tent wrapping the litter was starting to freeze.

She sent Offa and Eomer to the King's Chamber while she supervised the moving of the patient. The litter was carried into the room, Legolas unpacked, and moved gently to the bed. The fire had been stoked, the bed warmed and the room was hot. Offa watched as Malwyn situated the elf and checked him over.

"I think we've been replaced," Eomer told him, watching Hroth fall down in front of the fire, bits of sleet frozen in his hair.

"Good, I could use a night off," Offa told him, tiredly, stretching his legs out, warming his feet.

"Nonsense," Malwyn said, looking up from her charge. "It's not me he's going to be looking for."

Legolas woke to cold cloths washing his face. The could feel the great brown eyes of the dog as they stared at him, encouragingly. He swallowed dryly, and was relieved to feel the straw slipped effortlessly between his lips. He drank, gratefully, and was about to try and mutter his thanks. The voice in his ear was not Eomer or Offa, or even Higa.

"Yes, you were right, you great lug, he's awake," a woman's voice, rich with age and laughter and sorrows of her own. Legolas was confused, until he realized with a start that she was speaking to the dog.

"Don't try to talk just yet, my lad," the voice continued, as she sponged his face gently. It was cool and wet and soothing to the bruises there. "Let that settle in the throat before you say anything. Offa knows his work, there's none better, but he forgets a body likes a little sweetness too. That'll sooth that rasp of yours."

He opened his eye to look at her. She was tall for a woman of Rohan, her dark hair streaked with iron grey. Tendrils escaped the knot, curling around her ears, but the dark eyes were kind and full of care. Laugh lines creased the face.

"Who?" he asked, looking at her curiously. She continued to mop his face and looked at him fondly.

"You wouldn't remember me, Lord Prince," she said with a smile. "I'm Malwyn. Don't worry, I've some skill. _He_ wouldn't trust you to just anyone."

""Mer?" the elf whispered, feeling a panic rise.

"Oh, he's in the cot, sleeping." She motioned with her head. "Dropped from exhaustion and I'll not wake him, even for you, my bonny lad. I'm right here, I know exactly what to do and Offa's down the hall. You just give me a moment, here,"

She was quick and efficient with strong hands. Finishing his face, she gently tilted his head, bracing the pillows under him, so that he could see Eomer's big body curled in the cot. "There," she said, gently. "You can watch him, while I see to the rest of you."

As she worked, she kept up a continuous stream of soothing chatter, that somehow managed to relax Legolas. He watched Eomer's form rise and fall slowly, soft snores emitting on occasion.

"Always did snore, that boy," Malwyn went on, "but at least you knew where he was. Don't know how many times I've found him curled up with the dogs in the kitchen. Came in for a bite, and stayed so long he'd fall asleep. It was just after he'd lost his mother, and was missing a woman's voice."

Legolas watched as Eomer caught his breath, rolled, the blanket falling away. He twitched, trying to remember the talking woman's name. She noticed the movement, nodded to herself and left the elf for a moment to pull the blanket back up. She placed a gentle, almost unconscious caress on the man's head.

"Now, that's this side all done, and I'm going to roll you to do your back. Offa's potions may be bland, but they work. You'll be asleep again, before you know it. Don't worry, I'll get you situated so you can watch him while you drop off."

With the skill of years of practice, she moved the elf so smoothly he barely registered it. The drink was working, his eyes were closing, as she positioned him. He looked at her, seeing the look of understanding in her dark eyes.

"He'll be here when you wake up again, don't fret. So just rest, and let yourself heal."

She began to replace the dressings on the cruel wounds on his back, the coolness easing the pain away, as Legolas drifted, wondering once more why he was in the great bed alone.

The wind drove the rain against the window, pattering with tiny pings and streaming down. The fire burned hot, Hroth had retreated to the side of the bed, head on paws, his intelligent brown eyes flicking between the woman in the chair and the elf sleeping in the bed. Malwyn knitted, her eyes on her charge, the lamp light bright beside her.

Eomer stretched and rolled over, his arm falling off the edge of the cot, jolting him awake. Malwyn shushed him before he spoke, her hand motioning to the still form in the bed.

"He's sleeping easy," was her first remark, knowing it would be the first question out of his mouth.

"How long did I sleep?" the king asked, swinging his legs around and speaking quietly. His hair was tousled and he looked as if he could sleep for another day complete before being rested.

The woman stood, stowing her knitting in the chair and crossed to the door of the chamber. "Not as long as I'd like, but enough for now. I'll have a decent meal sent up for you, you've not eaten properly the whole time you were gone." She opened the door and spoke quietly to the boy waiting outside in the hall. A draft followed her back to her chair and she stopped to tuck the blankets more firmly about the elf.

Eomer grinned at her. "How would you know that." He accepted the cup of ale she poured for him, noticing the slight spicy odour. He sipped at it appreciatively, feeling the warmth run through him.

"By the state of our lad, there. You've got him home, Eomer, and that's half the battle won." She poured herself a cup and gave him a little toast with it. "I don't think he's any worse for the long march."

Eomer sighed. "It could still go bad, Malwyn. He wanted to die, and I begged him not to."

"Of course you did," the lip twitched. "It still depends on him. Life is not so terrible we let go of it easily."

"Malwyn," Eomer asked, his eyes troubled, "tell me about the Horrors."

She gave him a sad smile. "I've never had them."

"I know, but Eotha," he said, mentioning her man for the first time in years.

"Poor Eotha. It was hard, to watch him. Mind you, when it was good, it was good. When it went bad, well," she sighed. "You don't know that he's got them, yet."

"Offa seems to think so."

"Offa is a good healer, a good man, but he's not infallible. What's important is that you're here for out lad when he wakes up. He's going to be muddled for a while yet, and we don't know how he's going to take it."

"Take what?" asked a raspy voice from the pile of bedclothes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

In the early dawn the shadows of the bed curtains partly hid the elf, covered in blankets. Stretched on his stomach, easing the pressure on the cuts on his back, Legolas tried to push himself up, wincing and falling back down. Eomer stared at the elf, concern in his eyes. He'd no idea how long Legolas had been awake, or how much he'd heard.

"Lay still, love," Eomer said, hurrying to sit beside the elf on the bed, scrunching up the covers. Malwyn stooped, felt the head, looked into the eyes. Legolas returned the look with anger. She got the cup with Offa's potion in it and held it for the elf to drink.

He refused, looking frustrated. "No! Take what, 'Mer?" Eomer was worried, ran a hand through his hair, not knowing how much to tell him. Malwyn passed the cup to the king.

A rap at the door signalled the arrival of the boy with Eomer's breakfast. Malwyn took the heavy tray from the lad and sent him down the hall for Offa with a few whispered words. She placed the tray on the table and turned to the elf.

"I'll make a deal with you, my lad," she said gently. "You drink this up, and let Offa have a quick look at you. Then Eomer will explain what's happened." She spoke with quiet authority and the tone of those who dealt with the sick. Legolas glared at her, trying to twist his head.

Booted heels were heard running through the hall. Offa, having thrown on his trousers and shirt with obvious haste, skidded into the room. He took in the tableau, the angry elf, the worried king, the chatelaine.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking earnestly at the elf. Legolas regarded him with wariness. The elf was done with half answers and prevarications.

"What happened?" Legolas asked, his voice raspy from lack of use.

"Drink that first, it'll help." Malwyn said, nodding at the cup. While Legolas glared at her, she turned up the lamps in the room.

Offa checked the discontented elf over, nodding to himself. "You need to lie still, you're gong to open these wounds again. You've still got a lot of healing to do. Sleep is still the best thing for you right now."

"No more sleep!" Legolas said, trying to speak around the broken jaw, the stitches. He flinched at the pain, then set his face.

"Don't get stubborn, love." Eomer said, shifting on the side of the bed the elf faced. He stroked the head softly. "Drink the potion, then we'll explain."

The elf made a token resistance, but allowed the straw between his lips. He drank, noticing the bitter taste of the drug. He looked over at Malwyn.

"Liked yours better," he said, blinking to focus on her.

She took the cup, setting it on the table, next to the covered tray that held Eomer's food. She hoped she'd be able to get some of it into him after this.

"We found you in the forest." Eomer began. The elf concentrated on the man. "You've been seriously hurt. You were up in a tree. I don't know exactly what happened to you. But you're safe at Edoras, now." he looked around at the other two, worried that he was making a botch of it. Malwyn smiled at him encouragingly, while Offa just nodded.

Emotions crossed the elf's face. Confusion, panic, dread. The elf seemed to try to focus on something important. Then he set his face again.

"Gimli?" he asked simply, the look of pain in the eyes the only sign of suffering on his stoic face. Eomer looked away, looked back at those tortured eyes.

"Don't know, love." the man said honestly. "We're still searching, but it doesn't look good."

The keen began as a low moan, rising until it bruised the ears, made the teeth chatter. Eomer felt it in the bones behind his ears, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, a freezing upheaval filled his belly. The elf continued the scream, until he ran out of breath, then started it again, twisting in his agony, rolling himself to his back, trying to curl up against the splints that held the broken bones, the physical pain lost in the heartrending emotions.

"Don't, oh, don't, love," Eomer cried, trying to gather the elf in his arms. Malwyn stood on the other side of the bed, rubbing the elf's hip, tears in her eyes.

"Let him," Offa said, softly, his hand on the king's shoulder. "Let him get this out, it will help."

Hroth stood beside the bed, his howls making an eerie counterpoint to the elf's agony. Tears ran from the pale eye, from beneath the bandages on the other side, making pink streaks on the linen. Legolas screamed his grief, the threnody echoing through the hall, waking people in the dawn.

Breaking down into hiccoughing sobs, he stared unseeing, unaware of Eomer's tears, of Malwyn wiping his face with warm cloths, Offa holding his wrist. Finally the drug took hold and he sobbed his way into sleep.

Eomer, wiping his own tears with the back of his hand, looked to Malwyn. She held a flagon out to him, and he drank it down, not knowing, not caring what it was.

"Sweet Eru, I hope never to hear that again," he whispered. Malwyn was busy with instructions to the boy, who was wide eyed in horror. As he looked hopelessly at Offa, she had a bath started.

"Now, my lad," she told Eomer, tugging him off the bed. "Into the tub with you."

"This is not the time." Eomer said, horrified at her lack of sensitivity. She ignored him and forced him into the tub, washing his back and pouring the hot water herself. He found himself relaxing under her ministrations, in spite of himself, and was not sure if it was the hot water or the drink she'd given him. Drying off in warmed towels and slipping into a clean and warm nightshirt, he didn't care. Within moments, she had him tucked up into the cot, humming softly. He drifted off, almost as quickly as the elf had.

Offa was still monitoring the motionless elf. He'd repaired the damage to the bandages Legolas had caused with his anguish and tucked him up again.

Malwyn turned the lights down again. Hroth lay beside the bed, his big head on his paws. She turned to the healer, a sad look in her dark eyes, matched by his.

"Give me a few minutes to get things settled out there, Offa. Then you go back to your bed. Go get some rest, I can do what needs to be done here."

The healer stretched before the fire, as she closed the door behind her. He could hear her calm voice, explaining things to the crowd outside the King's Chamber.

Legolas woke to a remembrance of a great sorrow, something that pulled at him, tried to drown him in it's blackness. He fought it away, opening his eye, seeing the big head of the dog looking at him. Eomer still slept soundly, the occasional snore racking his body.

Malwyn was pulling the drapes open, letting in the dull, early afternoon light, while rain still sheeted against the window. Then she crossed to the elf.

"We'll let him sleep a bit longer, shall we, my lad? Let's see if we can't get you a bit more comfortable." she matched actions to words and quickly had him easy, propped up on pillows.

"You must be famished, with nothing but Offa's mixes in you. I've got some broth here, we'll try you on that. I've made it myself, so it's got some taste to it, not just nourishment."

She spooned a few mouthfuls into him, and he swallowed gratefully, not realizing until then how hungry he was. He ate the rest, ravenously, then leaned back against the pillows again, exhausted by the effort of eating. He drank the potion she gave him, noticing the sweet taste.

"Now, Offa wants to have a look at the eye today. It's not bright today, so we'll leave the curtains open. I'll just take this bandage off." She gently removed the padding, noticing that the swelling was almost gone, although the bruising was still livid against the pale skin of his face. The elf blinked, trying to focus both eyes together. Malwyn was grateful to notice there was no cant to the injured eye.

"It gets a bit depressing with nothing but lamplight," she continued, cheerfully. Legolas wished he could remember what her name was. "My first real patient was another eye injury. Got a bit high handed and his horse brought him right back down again. What a kick that was!" she laughed. "He was the most gentle man around horses after that! Some only seem to learn from experience."

"Malwyn, you'll talk him back to sleep" Eomer's voice came from the cot. "Some of weren't quite ready to get up yet."

"Malwyn," Legolas said, fixing the name. She turned her dark eyes on him.

"Yes, my lad?" she asked, as she adjusted the bandages on his face.

"Thank you." he said.

"Think nothing of it. Now, I'll go and see how Offa is getting along. Eomer, you call if you need me. I should be back in a few moments." She strode out the door. Eomer stretched and crossed over to the bed, still in his nightshirt. Legolas looked at him, trying to smile at the incongruous sight of the King of Rohan, hair tangled, sleep in his eyes.

"Well, you look much better with both your eyes." Eomer said lightly. "Are you lucky enough to see two of me?"

Legolas tried to shake his head, but the headache kept him from doing so. He gave up and rested against the soft pillows. "How bad am I?" he asked with resignation.

Eomer looked at him seriously. "Pretty bad. You've got some broken bones, cuts, looks like you're going to keep those beautiful eyes, though. How are you feeling?"

Legolas groaned. "Like hell." There was a question he wanted to ask, but something in his mind pulled it away from him. He reached for another, safer, query. "You rescued me?"

"Found you. I'm glad you decided to come home with me. You always could put up a fight."

Legolas grunted. "Not much choice. Put me to sleep every time I said a word..."

Eomer grinned. "Didn't want you to change your mind." Then he turned serious. "I don't know what you remember," he said, in a low and loving tone. "You told me you still loved me..."

Legolas gave him a sleepy grin. "Not still. Always...wanted you. Needed...time..."

Eomer groaned as the elf closed his eyes and drifted away. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the uninjured side of the face.

_Time for what? _Eomer wondered. Time to realize he loved Eomer? No, that had been plain from the first night they'd spent, tangled in these bedclothes. Time to sort out Gimli? No, Legolas had always been very clear where Gimli fit into his life. His best friend, his soul friend. What he and Eomer shared was separate, different. Time for Eomer to realize that? Perhaps. The elf always did have the most aggravating habit of dropping off when Eomer needed to talk.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

When Legolas woke again, he was almost fey. His mind instinctively pulled him away from the blackness that threatened to enfold him in it's desperate intensity. He blocked it out, turned to the joy, he was here, in Eomer's bed. The pillows carried that scent of leather and horses he always associated with the man. Eomer was nearby, that made him happy. He relaxed into the soft covers, trying to ignore the pain in his body. There was a twinkle in his eye as he addressed his nurse.

"Malwyn?" he asked, "where's Eomer King?" She wiped her hands on her skirts and looked at him, saw the smile, the light in the pale eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Eomer King has gone to attend a few things that desperately needed his attention." She deliberately did not tell him that riders had arrived from Halma in Fangorn. Something in his mood caught her, and she smiled. "Shall I get you cleaned up, Lord Prince, in anticipation of his return?"

He tried to stretch, winced. "I would love a bath," he said, forming the words carefully around the stinging in his cheek. "If I'm to be allowed one. And to wash out my hair."

She controlled her face but he saw the slight flicker of dismay in her her dark eyes. "What is it?" he asked, reaching up to feel his head. Bandages covered it, and for the first time he wondered why.

"Oh, my lad," she said softly. "You've lost your hair."

Eomer had warned her, but she was not prepared for the reaction. Anger filled his face, twisting the stitches on his cheek, fury in his eyes. He pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the slicing pain in his back.

"How?" he snarled, in a low and menacing voice. Malwyn crossed to the bed, sat beside him, ignoring the anger.

"It was gone when Eomer found you, my lad. You're scalp's got cuts, as if you'd been roughly shaved."

He lost her voice in the mists that filled his mind, that other, terrifying voice, laughing in it's cruelty...

"_What will you give me for him, elf?" it demanded._

"_Anything! My life, take it!" he pleaded, desperate for Gimli's release. The smoke swirled around him, black and foul._

_That horrible laugh, the screams of the dwarf, pushed past all his limits by the pain. "I want more. Will you give your pride, your honour? Will you give your hair?"_

"_Take it!" he'd screamed as he'd bowed his head. In the end it had only bought Gimli a few more moments of torment..._

Malwyn was beside him on the bed, her strong and capable arms around him. He realized he was shrieking into her shoulder as she held him. She stroked him gently, murmuring soothingly to him. Hroth had pulled himself onto the bed and forced his head under the elf's arm, trying to comfort him.

"Wherever you are, my lad, that's over. Come on back now. That's finished. Come back."

He grabbed her voice, followed it out of the nightmare forest, the screams. He sobbed softly, tried to wipe his face, the splints on his arm getting tangled in the sheets. His mind brought a wall up, cutting off the smoke, the pain, in blessed forgetfulness. She held him for a few moments more, and he calmed down, listening to the soft tones, the beat of her heart under the cotton dress.

"There, now, my lad," she told him softly, wiping his face with her kerchief, patting gently around the bruises. "Much as I'd love to let you soak in the tub, Offa doesn't want the splints off the leg for a while yet. He's worried about the knee. But I can give you the best bed bath this side of Gondor." She pushed the dog back off the bed, where he crawled underneath, unwilling to move even across the room.

Legolas found that her continual chatter was a blessing. It kept him from falling back into memory, hearing the screams, the scent of burning hair and flesh... He embraced the pain in his body. He pulled the sensations to him, using them to block out the worse pain in his mind and heart.

She gave him a good wash, cleaning and salving the half formed scabs he'd ripped open again. Then she gently removed the bandaging and bathed his head tenderly. Tears fell steadily as the elf felt the water on his scalp, mournfully remembering the white-gold cascade he'd treasured. Whatever had been done, it was thorough, there was not even a strand left. Just scab and stubble covered the head.

"Now, then," Malwyn said, finishing, and tossing the old bandages and towels into a willow basket, "I think we should let the air at this. It's going to help the healing."

He looked at her in revulsion. "But, then, 'Mer will see..." he broke off. Malwyn worried about the wounded look in the eyes.

"Eomer cares more about what's in your head." she said, crisply. "You don't think it's going to matter to him, do you?"

"It matters to me!" he hissed, anger flashing and replacing the shame in the blue eyes. "You don't understand."

"Then you can explain it to me," she said, calmly, pulling a robe out of the press. "While you sit up for a bit in the chair and drink one of Offa's brews."

"Not more sleep!" he protested. She helped him into a sitting position, and wrapped him in one of Eomer's robes. It was much to baggy for him, but she got him into it, and with a strength that surprised him, helped him move the short distance to the chair. She tucked the robe and another blanket around him, and brought him the cup. Hroth sat beside him, resting his head on Legolas' lap. He lay his injured arm absently on the big neck.

"Now, Lord Prince," she said, real interest in her eyes. "You tell me about the hair while I fix the bed."

He sipped at the cup, grateful that it wasn't as heavily drugged as the others had been.

"I've never cut my hair," he began, then his voice caught. He turned his head, certain he'd heard the dwarf scream. Hroth whimpered, and he scratched the dog's ear.

"Why not?" Malwyn asked, noticing the twitch, continuing her work, as if they were discussing the weather.

"It takes such a long time to grow," he went on, looking at her, holding on to the explanation. "Usually it's not long enough to do anything with until one becomes an adult."

She nodded at him, encouraging him to keep talking. "Children don't wear elaborate hairstyles, then?" she asked.

"No, they wear braids, but they're small, close to the head, all over. The longer the hair is, the more attractive it is, to other elves, to ourselves. So the braiding, the arranging, is done to accentuate how long the hair is." he unconsciously reached up to feel the end of his own braid, realized it wasn't there, let his hand fall back to Hroth's neck.

"Does it get in the way?" Malwyn asked, changing the sheets with an alarming rapidity.

"Sometimes. But it's worth it. It's not just vanity. It's a symbol of personal power, honour. It tells others that you're an adult, that you're responsible for yourself, that you're," his voice faltered, "desirable. Now, I'm ugly, I'm shamed, I'm reduced to the status of a child again."

Tucking in the remainder of the heavy blankets, Malwyn moved the basket of used linen and sat down on the side of the bed. She reached out to touch the elf's hand, silently urging him to finish his drink. He did, ignoring the tears that fell into it.

"Ours is a different culture. Hair is not important here. There is no shame. And as for being a child, well, my lad, if you start to act like one, you'll find yourself in the kitchens with me or in the creche with the others." He snorted, spilling a few drops on the soft robe. She smiled at him.

"As for desirability, well, all I can tell you there, is the most attractive man I ever knew had but one eye, missing teeth, and a limp."

He looked up at her, to see if she was jesting with him. The smile in her eyes was distant, as if she were remembering some happy moment.

"It was a long time ago, and I was young and impressionable, but I've had a fondness for rough looking men ever since." He laughed out loud at that. She took the now empty cup from him, stood and went to the hearth.

"I've got some stew here, so you're going to eat, and then back to bed with you, my lad. Eomer King will have a few choice words for me if he finds I've been wearying you with tales of my wicked youth."

"What was he like, you're one eyed man?" Legolas asked, gratefully interested in anything that blocked out the sounds in his head. She served him deftly, and set down a bowl on the floor for the dog. Hroth ate greedily as she sat in the other chair, nursing a cup of wine.

"Harad?" she asked. He looked a bit surprised, but his mouth was full. For some reason he'd expected another name. Why was that? He tried to remember, but something stopped him. He chewed the soft stew carefully, while she continued.

"He was the first warm breath of spring across the meadows, the thunder of hoof beats when the herds pass. He was the way the wine makes your head spin and the dance takes your feet."

Legolas swallowed. "You're a poet!" he accused her.

"We're a poetic people." she shrugged. "He was a good man, a loving man. He set me afire. I miss him, sometimes."

"What happened?" the elf asked, taking another spoonful.

Her eyes grew distant. "He died. A fever." she raised her cup in unconscious salute and sipped, then continued. "I thought I'd never want to live again, but life had other plans for me. So I sang for him, then went on to the next challenge."

Legolas finished his stew and she put the bowl and spoon on the tray, ready for the girl to take away with the laundry. Legolas felt himself beginning to grow sleepy again, and fought it.

"How long till I can stay awake for more than a few moments?" he asked her, feeling the pain receding, the fogginess of the draught taking over.

"It's been the best part of an hour, my lad." she told him, helping him back into the bed.

"Doesn't feel that long," he said, petulantly. "Malwyn? What about Eotha?" he stumbled over the unfamiliar name, the pronunciation pulling at his cheek, making him twitch.

"Where did you get that name?" she asked, calmly, smoothing the blankets around him.

"Don't remember exactly. Something about you and him and until the end. He wasn't your one eyed man?"

"No, my lad. Eotha was a good man as well, but something altogether different."

"Tell me?" he asked. He could still smell smoke.

"It's a long story, my lad, and you need to go to sleep."

"Shan't" the elf said, "unless you tell me."

She gauged he would be asleep in moments, so she decided to indulge him. He'd be asleep before she got to the parts she wouldn't tell him, wouldn't tell anyone.

"Eotha was a warrior, a fighter from the beginning. We knew each other as children. He always had to ride faster, farther than anyone else. Even Theoden King. Well, Theoden wasn't king then, of course, being just a little older than we were ourselves. But Eotha always threw himself into everything with all he had. He was intense."

"Like 'Mer," the elf said softly, losing himself in the story.

"Yes," she said with a smile, "like Eomer. And he was good looking, too, if a little pretty for my taste." Legolas let out a very un-elf like snicker at that.

"Had both eyes," he said. She chalked that up to the medicines.

"Yes, my lad." she told him, gently stroking the shaved head. "Both eyes, all his teeth. Bit of a come down for a lass like me." the elf snickered again. "But he was good to me, and he loved me as intensely as he did everything else."

The blue eyes were closed now, the breathing slowing. "He made me laugh, he could sing well, he made me happy. And I loved him. I loved his enthusiasm, his passions. It was very good." She noted the relaxation of the muscles in the face.

"How did you lose him?" the elf asked, groggily. Sleep was claiming him again.

"In battle, my lad." _A battle I 'm afraid you're about to face, _she thought, continuing to stoke the shaved head.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Eomer, Offa and Higa met with the rider Halma had sent. The man was exhausted, soaked and travel stained, having ridden straight from Fangorn. He carried with him another ominous wooden box. He set it on the table, all the men eyed it with horror.

"We found this, Lord King," the man said. "Halma didn't know what to make of it. We searched everywhere in the vicinity, but this was all there was. The remains of a fire were there, with a lot of blood. It was quite a way from the original camp site. We'd never have found it without the dogs. Halma is still searching for the rest, and Eothain is raising such a ruckus that we'll have the Ents at Helm's Deep before the week is out."

"Good" Eomer grunted, "I want to talk to Treebeard."

Offa gently pulled the wood casket towards him. "May I?" he asked, looking at his King. Eomer nodded, and Offa opened the box.

The smell knocked them back for a moment. It was the horrific odour of charred and rotten flesh. The remains of a boot, with the foot still inside. The edges were fire blackened and had been chewed by scavengers. Eomer felt his stomach lurch, while Higa covered his mouth. Offa removed it respectfully from the box and examined it carefully.

"It's like the hand, Eomer King," he said. "It's been pulled away, not cut. And burned? Perhaps the perpetrator was trying to get rid of the body?" He turned to the rider. "Did you sift the ashes?"

"We looked for big pieces, but I don't know about sifting," the man said, a rag over his nose, looking at Offa in horror. "Isn't this enough?"

"It doesn't answer my questions. Maybe there was something in the ashes that would have helped?" He turned the mutilated boot in his hands, examining it in the muted light from the window. Something gold glinted in the baked mixture of mud and blood on the sole.

"What's this?" he said, gently pulling at it. A few strands came loose in his hand.

"Elf hair." Eomer said grimly. "Legolas'. It's been burned, look at the ends."

"Trying to burn all trace of them?"

"Then why leave the elf alive?" Higa asked. The others turned to him, speculatively. "If they were trying to cover up what had been done, it would have made more sense to kill the elf. Obviously they had him at their mercy, if they could get his hair. Why leave him alive, to tell the tale?"

"Nothing about this makes sense!" Eomer exploded. "We're not getting any answers from Legolas, and after last night, Offa, you'll understand if I'm a little worried about bringing it up again!" The healer nodded. "But there's been no hint of trouble anywhere along the borders of Fangorn. No marauders, no wild men, nothing. Not so much as a corn crib disturbed. Was it only because they were in Fangorn itself? But they had Treebeard's leave to wander there, wherever they wanted to go."

It was Higa who voiced what they were all starting to think. "Maybe Treebeard isn't in charge of Fangorn any more?"

"Higa," Eomer said, command in his voice. "You start getting a second war band together. Prepare for hard riding. When Aragorn gets here..." he trailed off, conscious of Offa's eyes on him.

"If Legolas needs me here, I'll stay, and send Aragorn. Whatever this is, gentlemen, we have to deal with it. Now." He turned to the messenger. "My thanks for this, Ortha. Go, rest up, get something to eat. You can return to Halma in the morning." The man nodded, grateful to have discharged his grisly duty.

When Eomer returned to the King's Chamber, he noticed that the elf's head was unbandaged, the lamplight glistening on the stubble that remained. He questioned again what freak mischance had destroyed the right side of his face while the left was bruised but unbroken. Malwyn rose from her chair to greet him quietly and yawned.

"Off to bed with you, Malwyn," he told her, in a voice remarkably like her own. "We can't have our best nurse dropping from exhaustion."

"I'll not fight you on that, Eomer," she said, stretching. "Was there news?"

"Nothing that makes any sense. I don't want to tell you here," he whispered in her ear, not wanting to wake the elf. "Your main concern needs to be him. I'll tell you all in the morning."

"Aye, there's nothing I can do about it anyway. He took the news about his hair hard, but he's fighting something deeper underneath. You'll need to be gentle with our lad."

He bent to kiss the creased cheek. "I've never been anything but," he told her, shooing her out the door to her own bed.

Poking the fire, he stepped around Hroth. The dog slept lightly, so Eomer figured the elf was dozing comfortably. He poured himself wine, sat down and kicked off his boots.

He stared at the flames and tried to make sense of the facts he had. Something was stalking Fangorn. If the Ents themselves couldn't contain it, it must be horrific. But nothing outside Fangorn had been touched. Gimli had been torn apart, in the most barbaric manner. Someone had tried to burn his body. Who? Why?

The whine of the dog alerted him, even before he heard the mutterings from the bed. Putting his cup down hard, spilling the wine on the wood, he crossed to check on the prone figure. Legolas was still asleep, but his dreams must have become agitated. He twisted his head back and forth, his face contorted in fear. Eomer reached out to touch him gently.

An earsplitting roar, full of hate and pain, broke from the elf, startling the man, the dog. Hroth began to bark loudly, Eomer hissing at him to shut up, even as he grabbed at the writhing form on the bed. Legolas shrieked louder, fighting the man, landing blows with unconscious fury, screaming his defiance. Eomer desperately tried to pin him down, to keep him from pulling at his wounds, his splints. But even with his body broken the elf was still stronger than he was. The bruised eyes opened, unseeing, while the elf battled him as if demons drove him.

"Let him die!" the elf screeched, kicking out with both legs, the splints shattering under the force. He tore at the bedclothes with his feet, scrabbling for purchase, sending feathers flying.

"Legolas!" Eomer yelled, trying to break through the terror. "Legolas! You're home! It's over!" The elf caught him in the face, cracking his lip.

Offa slammed the door open, running past the barking dog, Malwyn at his heels. He took in the scene instantly, nodded at Malwyn. They piled on the bed, helping Eomer to subdue the crazed elf. Between them, they managed to stop the thrashing, holding him down. Higa arrived, panting, in time to mix powders into a cup at Offa's shouted instructions.

The elf was sobbing now. "Let him die, he's had enough, let him die," he begged his captors. Eomer was crying in horror, while Malwyn was entreating the elf to wake up. "Please, take me instead, let him go!"

Higa brought the cup, but it could not be brought to the brawling elf's lips. Malwyn looked at Eomer, mouthing, "Forgive me," and slapped Legolas hard, across the stitches in the cheek. The elf stopped for a second, and she did it again.

Eomer roared in rage, but the elf's eyes were clearing. Malwyn's voice was a whip in the muted darkness.

"Enough!" she barked. "You stop that right now, my lad, and lie still. It's over!"

The elf looked at them, heaped on him, pinning him down. Confusion filled his face. "What?" he asked, staring at the faces around him.

"You just lie still." Malwyn said again, her voice showing no trace of the tears in her eyes. "You had a nightmare. That's all. You're home and safe!"

"Malwyn," Eomer growled, rage choking him. Offa put a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"Now, you're going to let us see what you've done to yourself. You're going to stay calm," she ordered, easing the pressure on his shoulder, where she held him down to the bed. "Eomer is here," she nodded at the king, "so you can talk quietly to him."

"'Mer?" he asked, looking up, puzzled at the man's split lip.

Eomer tried to get his emotions back under control, the mix of fear and anger still consuming him. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, accepted the cloth Higa handed him and dabbed at his lip, tasting the blood.

"Bad dream," he said. Legolas winced as Offa's capable hands ran over the broken bones, the shattered splints. The healer looked at Malwyn, shook his head, and they began to repair the damage.

"Get that into him," Offa said, "this is going to hurt."

Legolas accepted the cup without protest, drinking down the bitter brew. Eomer looked at him, worried and frustrated.

"Talk to him, Eomer," Malwyn hissed, her hands busy wiping blood from torn wounds.

The elf was still confused, the drugs now muddling him further. "'Mer?" he whispered.

"Right here, love," he said, running a hand over his hair, trying to think of calming things, when his mind kept screaming, _"Who? What?"_

"Stars?" Legolas asked, his eyes drifting to the window. "They out?"

"Still raining, love," Eomer said, "When it clears up, we'll make sure you get out to see them. Have to wrap you in blankets, though, the nights are getting cold."

"'M'n elf" Legolas slurred. "Don' feel col'"

"You're an injured elf, and I'm not taking on Offa. He says you need to stay warm, so warm you're going to stay. I think you've got every quilt in Meduseld piled on you." He gently stroked the shorn head, trying to calm the trembling in his hands.

"Yer shakin'" the elf said, trying to smile.

"You always do that to me," Eomer told him, smiling back. "Can't help myself."

"Los' m'hair, 'Mer," Legolas said sadly. "Not good lookin' anymore."

Eomer bent to kiss the shaved scalp. "You look pretty good to me, love."

"Nah, I'm ugly." The words were softer now, sadder. "Damn Ent." Eomer froze, but never took his eyes from Legolas' face. "Whyn't he kill me too?"

"Don't know, love," Eomer said, gently, his mind racing. "I'm glad he didn't. I need you."

"Need you, too. Not th'same, wi' Gimli." The eyes closed, but the elf kept talking, the drugs slurring his words, his thoughts. "Gimli, was bes' frien' I ever had."

"I know, love." Eomer said, "I know what he was to you."

"Soul frien'. Unnerstood. Cravin' for you. Always. Now'm ugly."

"Never," Eomer said quietly. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Ha!" Legolas snorted, "jes' sayin' tha'." He opened his eyes, looked with longing into the hazel gaze that stared back. "Gimli's gone, 'Mer."

"Yes, love, I know."

"Tried to save 'im, couldn'." He twitched as Offa reset the knee, splinting it back into place. "Hurts, 'Mer," he mumbled.

"I know, love."

"Stay here wi' you always now. Don' wanna travel, not wi'out Gimli."

Eomer gently stroked his cheek. "I'd give everything I have for him to be here with you, the pair of you setting out on the road again."

"I know." Legolas sighed. "He tol' me. Called me a fool. Me!" he smiled sadly. "Gone, 'Mer. Couldn' save him. Tried. Failed. Not good enough.."

Eomer continued to sit beside him, stroking the cheek, while the elf slipped back into unconsciousness. Offa finished his work, settling the breaks, rebinding the wounds. Malwyn helped silently, her eyes full. Offa and Eomer used the sheet to move the elf to the cot while she quickly stripped and remade the bed, then tucking Legolas in as tenderly as if he'd been a child.

When they were done, she crossed the room and held out her arms to Eomer. He went into her embrace willingly, allowing himself to cry the tears he would not show the elf. After a moment, he dried his eyes, squared his shoulders and looked at her with his jaw set.

"Eotha?" he asked softly. "Like that?"

"And then some," she said, quietly. "It's a hard road, for both."

"We'll sing for Gimli, then, and fight like hell for him." _Starting with Treebeard,_ he thought to himself.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It was Higa who brought the news that Aragorn was on his way, riding hell bent for leather, pushing Brego to his limit. The horse might break his heart for his rider, but Aragorn would be there before nightfall. Actually, the signals had been Gondor, Royal, Arrival, Nightfall, but Eomer understood Aragorn.

Eomer shut the door behind Higa and stopped to stroke Hroth, who lay in front of the fire. He thought about going back to sleep for a while, but decided against it. Malwyn had woken him when Higa arrived, and had gone to see about breakfast.

The elf shifted from sleep to wakefulness in that sudden manner that always startled the man. The first time it had happened, he'd been propped up on his elbow, contentedly gazing at the elf.

_Legolas was sleeping with his hair rumpled on the pillow, the light sheet covering his hips. The eyes opened and the elf smiled._

"_Morning, 'Mer," he'd said, the intense look in the blue eyes causing the man to shiver._

"_Don't do that, you'll scare the life out of me!" Eomer replied, clutching at his chest. The elf laughed and playfully pulled the man's head down to kiss the scolding lips..._

Eomer sighed and pulled clean clothes out of the press, began dressing. He was doing up the toggles on his tunic when Legolas' voice came from somewhere in the mountain of bedclothes.

"I can't see a bloody thing, 'Mer!"

Rushing to the side of the bed, he discovered the elf had not moved after his episode and the pile of blankets blocked his view of the rest of the room. The bruised eyes looked at him, appreciatively. Eomer smoothed the offending blankets, a scowl on his face.

"Stop that! I thought you'd gone blind on top of everything else, love!" Eomer said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's to see in here anyway?"

"You," the elf said, smiling. Then he winced as he tried to pull himself up in the bed.

"Lay still, Legolas. You had a bit of a rough night." Eomer said, carefully. He reached under the blankets for the elf's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. Legolas squeezed back and did not let it go.

"Don't see how, when I can't move." He looked closely at the man, his eyes narrowing. "What happened to your lip?" he asked, noticing the cut.

"Nothing, had a little accident, that's all." Eomer said, not sure about what he should tell him.

"Looks like someone hit you," the elf said, still staring at him. "You start a fight?"

"No, it's nothing. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Sore all over. Hungry. Sad."

"All that? Well, let's get you some food, then see what we can do about the rest."

"'Mer?" the elf asked, looking worried. "Gimli's dead, isn't he."

"Yes, love. I'm so sorry." Eomer gently put his arm around Legolas, ready for the fresh outbreak of grief. To his surprise, it didn't come. Instead there was a worrying shadow in the elf's eyes as he looked at him.

"Why can't I remember what happened? Did I hit my head?"

"You will when you're ready to." Eomer said, startled. "Offa says your mind is too busy with healing your body. It can't handle everything all at once."

"I don't think I want to remember," the elf said, quietly.

"That might happen, too." Eomer told him, patting his hand gently. "Right now it doesn't matter. You getting well is what matters. Now, how about breakfast for you?" He left the bed, opened the door, and spoke to the boy who'd been waiting. The lad sped down the hall, shoes slipping as he rounded the corner.

"Aragorn should be here tonight," Eomer continued, opening the drapes and letting the morning sunshine flood the room. "No rain today, so he should make good time." Hroth moved from the fire to the puddle of light on the rug in front of the window. He turned a few times and settled back down. Eomer grinned and ruffled the big head.

There was a flash of panic in the blue eyes. "Aragorn?"

"I sent for him as soon as I could. I hoped he'd be able to help us."

"Help us," the elf whispered, lips suddenly dry.

Eomer looked up from the dog, staring at the elf. With his head unbandaged, the swelling around his eye lessened, it was somehow harder to look at him. The ruin of his hair, the wound on his cheek, but no, there was something in the eyes, fear, doubt?

Eomer stepped back over to the bed and sat down beside the elf. Legolas looked at him, then away, as if he were shamed. Eomer reached over, and gently turned the face back to him, careful of the broken jaw.

"What is it, love?" he asked, concern changing his face. "Are you hurting? Should I get Offa?"

"'Mer," the elf began, then he stopped, closing his eyes.

"Look at me, love, what is it? What can I do?" He gently stroked the head. Legolas stiffened.

"Don't!" he hissed. Eomer pulled his hand back, as if bitten.

"Did I hurt you?" Eomer asked, confused at the change in the elf, the anger in the voice.

"For Eru's sake, 'Mer, look at me! Look at me, honestly, and tell me what you see."

Eomer sighed. "Fine. Here's the truth. Your hair is gone. You are missing part of your ear. You are going to have terrible scars, on your back, your face. You may even have a limp. But your eyes are still the most brilliant blue and your smile would bring the Valar themselves from the sky. You're going to be in bed for the better part of the winter, and even then, you'll need to take things slowly. But when you laugh, Legolas, the stars themselves rejoice."

"I'm going to be ugly. Forever."

"You couldn't be ugly on a bet." Eomer grinned at him, surprising the elf. "You haven't got it in you. It's never been your looks that make you beautiful. Don't you know that?"

Legolas looked at him, tears of frustration building in his eyes. "People are going to run and hide when they see me coming. I'm an elf, for Eru's sake! One of the Fair Folk!" He ran his good hand over his stubble. "And without this...", he looked down again. "I don't want Aragorn to see me! I don't want anyone to see me!"

"I know what it meant to you..." Eomer began, but Legolas cut him off, almost spitting the words.

"I was a warrior! People knew that as soon as they saw me! Now, nothing! I have my pride, 'Mer."

Eomer pulled back a bit. "We are not going to have the pride fight again! Not now, not ever. I don't care if you've lost your hair, I wouldn't care if you'd lost your leg or an eye. Anyone who thinks you're not a warrior still is a fool, and that includes you. Yes, you!" His hazel eyes were smouldering as he looked at Legolas. "The last time we fought about pride, yours, mine, you left. I hated living without you. I hate the thought of it now. But you're here, Legolas. You're alive! You're here, with me, in our bed."

"So why are you sleeping in a cot?" Legolas asked, his humiliation chasing reason out the window.

Eomer laughed grimly. "I haven't slept in this bed since you went away."

The elf looked puzzled. "Why ever not? It's one of the most comfortable I've ever been in."

"Not when you're not in it." Eomer told him, tears beginning to brim in his own eyes. "There wasn't enough room with all the memories."

Legolas reached up to brush away the tears in the man's eyes. "You don't have to sleep in the cot, now." Eomer groaned in the back of his throat.

"Malwyn would skin me alive! Besides I might hurt you, roll over and jostle you."

"I knew it!" the elf snapped. "I'm ugly! I'm bald and ugly!"

Eomer's laugh cut right through his self pity. "You've got broken ribs, love. You've got splints. Your own thrashing in your sleep can still injure you! If you weren't hurt, do you think I'd have been out of this bed at all in the past few days? Here," he took the elf's hand, placing it on himself, letting the elf feel the hardness beneath the fabric, "that's how ugly I think you are. If you weren't so banged up, I'd take you right now."

Legolas smiled, a twisted grin that pulled the stitches. "Not if I took you first, 'Mer," he said, moving his hand to Eomer's neck and pulling the man's head down to his. He kissed him gently, revelling in the feel of the beard against his smooth skin, the taste of the man. Eomer moaned, then leaned in, gently tracing the elf's lips with his tongue.

"Too long," he breathed, as he pulled away. The elf closed his eyes, hand still cupping Eomer's cheek.

"Much too long. And longer still, I think.'

"I can wait." Eomer said, stroking the elf's neck. "I'm just glad your back in your bed."

"You really can sleep in here with me." Legolas said, smiling up at him.

"No, I don't think I can." Eomer told him, a wicked grin spreading over his face, fire in his hazel eyes.

There was a knock at the door and Malwyn herself came bustling in, carrying the heavy tray.

"Brought some for you as well, Eomer, and you'll not give me a hard time about it. You can eat now with our lad, while I get things ready for Aragorn King, excuse me, King Aragorn," she tripped on the unfamiliar term. "Don't know why they have to get everything backwards in Gondor anyway. I'll be back in a bit to sit with our Lord Prince, while you and he get the kinging out of the way."

Legolas snickered at her description. "Kinging. I like that." Malwyn looked at him, then at Eomer, who shook his head unobtrusively. She put the tray on the table and began to arrange pillows behind the elf's head, propping him up.

"I don't get to get up today?" he asked her, looking crestfallen.

"Not today, my lad. And you're to tell him," she nodded at Eomer, "when the pain gets bad. No heroics, even if the King of Gondor is here. Offa's going to try you on a different medicine, one that won't make you sleep all the time. It may make you want to talk, though."

The elf brightened at that. He remembered troubling dreams, but no more than that. It would be good to spend a day awake. He ate most of what Malwyn brought him, looking over enviously at Eomer's steaming coffee.

"I suppose hot coffee is not good for injured elves?" he asked with a mock pout. Eomer laughed at him, pouring him some, sugaring it well. Legolas drank it with satisfaction, even when it burned at his cheek.

"Don't you dare tell on me," Eomer said, kissing the elf's forehead as he removed the tray. He put it on the table, waiting for Malwyn's return. He turned around to look at Legolas. The elf patted the space beside him invitingly.

Eomer settled himself comfortably on the bed, stretching out his long legs. "Well, I'll not give you your draught till Offa comes to check you. So you can stay awake with me. Have you been talking too much this morning? How's your jaw feeling?" He laced his fingers through the elf's. Legolas pulled their hands up together, and looked at Eomer's.

"You've still got your ring?" he asked, in a soft voice, looking at the worn silver band Eomer wore on his first finger.

"Do you want it back?" he asked, looking at their hands, afraid of the answer.

"I, I don't know where mine is," the elf said, looking up at him sadly.

Eomer laughed quietly. "You're a rotten liar, love. When you threw it back at me, it fell through the cracks in the floorboards. Took a lot of digging, but I got it out. It's with my things. Do you want it back?"

"Can't wear it yet, but yes," the elf told him.

"What happens now?" Legolas asked, looking off into the corners of the room. He pushed down the sadness, feeling safe here, the great bulk of Eomer's body beside him, the comforting scent of horses and leather that always surrounded the man.

"Whatever you want. You can stay here, or when you're well you can travel. I understand what you we're trying to tell me, before."

"Before." The blackness pushed itself forward, Legolas fought it back. "I don't know if I want to travel." He heard the screams in the distance, the roar of the fire, the crashing of branches. Something terrible flickered across his face, and Eomer gently reached around to cradle him.

"It's over," he said quietly. "You're here, and I'll keep you safe. But I won't cage you. Whatever you want, I'll give you."

"Gimli" the elf whispered, the blackness overtaking him. He started to shake, losing his battle. He pushed the terror away, clung to the sadness, holding it with his heart, using it to keep away the madness.

"He's gone to his ancestors, love," Eomer told him, tears in his eyes. "Go ahead, grieve, I'm here to help you." It was a long time before the elf stopped sobbing.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Aragorn is giving me a bit of trouble in this chapter. I promise you, I'm not trying to make him look bad. It sorts itself out in the next chapter.

Chapter Eleven

When Malwyn returned from ordering the staff, she was accompanied by Offa.

"How are you feeling today?" the healer asked, crossing to the bed and looking intently into the elf's eyes. They were red and tired with weeping, and the ragged face was pale, the bruises livid against white flesh.

Legolas, sore, weary and emotionally exhausted, shook his head. "I've been better," he told Offa. The dark man looked closely at the wounds on his face, gently feeling along the jaw.

The healer grimaced as he felt the elf's chest, checked the splints on arm and leg. Legolas winced as Offa sat the elf up in the bed, removing the bandages from the re-opened wounds on his back.

"You must be still," Offa said, shaking his head and motioning for Malwyn to salve and bind the welts up again. "I don't want you out of this bed for a while yet." He turned to look at Malwyn. "Do you understand me?" She nodded, applying the soothing lotion to the elf's back.

"You needn't set Malwyn on me." Legolas retorted. "I'm capable of immobility on my own."

"Legolas, do you remember anything about last night?" the healer asked, ignoring the sarcasm.

"I had disturbing dreams, but nothing else." He looked to Eomer, who ran a hand through his hair. The man hated not knowing what was best to do, how much of the truth the elf could handle.

"I won't lie to you," Offa told Legolas, taking the decision away from Eomer. "You had a nightmare, your thrashing broke your splints and opened some of your wounds. It took all of us," he motioned to the others, "to calm you down. I want you to sleep so deeply at night that this doesn't happen again. I can give you something that will do that. But I would like your permission first."

Legolas stared at Eomer. "Did I do that?" he asked, motioning to the split lip.

"Yes, love, but I don't think you meant it." Eomer replied. "If you did, you're getting soft." The elf tried to chuckle but the pain in his chest stopped him.

"You've displaced the ribs, and I want you to be as still as you can for the next few days." Offa continued. "We can prop you up on the pillows during the day, but I really must insist on you taking the sleeping draught at night. We don't want another setback."

Legolas turned his head to look at Malwyn. She gave him a small smile and a nod. "It's for the best, my lad."

"You'll be here, 'Mer?" he asked, turning again to look at the man.

"All night." Eomer told him. "Hroth, too." The dog looked up from his spot by the fire on hearing his name. The big dog stood up, shook, padded over to the bed, and wedging himself in front of Eomer put his head on the blanket. Legolas scratched behind his ear, smiling.

"Alright. I don't like it, but if it's necessary, I'll do it. On the condition that I get coffee in the morning."

"You shouldn't really have hot things until that gash in your cheek heals up a bit more," Offa told him.

"One cup, Offa," Eomer said, looking at the healer. "It's his face, after all."

"Fine," Offa said, giving in, "but not piping hot. Put some milk in it and let it cool down a bit."

Legolas sighed, as much from the soothing of his back as the promise of coffee.

"Tired?" Eomer asked, watching the bruised face.

"Very," Legolas replied. "Can I have something for the pain now?" he asked Offa.

The pain medicine went down easily, now he'd their promise it wouldn't make him sleep all day. He settled against the soft pillows, ready to sleep if it came upon him, easier now that it was not forced on him.

Once Offa and Eomer had left, Malwyn settled into the chair beside the bed and pulled out her knitting. Legolas looked at it curiously.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"A sweater. Doesn't look much now, but it will, the blue was such a beautiful colour. The dyes came out so well this year."

"Do you have children?" he asked her, relaxing and feeling chatty.

"None of my body, many of my soul," she replied.

"That's a nice way to put it," he sighed. "What happens here, in Rohan, if 'Mer has no children?" he asked, bluntly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from someone besides Eomer.

"Eowyn does. Her little girl, and the next one due anytime now. They will continue the line of kings in Rohan. Nothing to fret yourself about, my lad. Eomer himself is Theoden's nephew, not son."

He sighed and sank back into the pillows, a worried look on his face.

"What is it, my lad? Pain getting bad? It may take the mix a little while to work."

"Nothing I can't take," he said, automatically, realizing it was the wrong answer. He changed the subject. "Malwyn, did he, did 'Mer, ever talk to you about, well, about what happened? With us?"

"Some," she said, guardedly.

"He's always so intense, I wanted to know him better. I watched him, you know, while we were in Gondor. He sat beside Eowyn, waiting, so bereft, and I just wanted him to smile, to see all that pain leave his eyes." She nodded, and he continued. "I wanted him to laugh, I loved the sound of it. He's such a good man. It hurt me to see him so diminished. And he's so good looking, so big, so capable..." he took a breath, "so different."

"I know, lad," she said, encouragingly.

"I looked for him when he wasn't near me. When we came back to Rohan, so Gimli could see the caves," his eyes clouded with sorrow, "I found myself seeking him out. I wanted to make him happy, but I also wanted him to think well of me. I didn't realize what I was doing until I was too deep into it. I had wanted to lift his sadness, not fall in love with him. And then..." he broke off, his eyes on her needles, following the rhythm, finding it hypnotic.

"You found out he was in love with you?" she asked. "Oldest story in the world."

"I was changed. But I wasn't. My father is king. I understand the responsibilities. There is no time for travel, no time to go away. He has to stay where he is. It felt like a cage. And then I was the one causing the pain in his eyes. He wanted me to stay, and I couldn't. How could I be Consort and leave for a year or two at a time? He blamed Gimli, but it was me. Eowyn understood the truth. I guess I'm wondering if she's still angry with me."

Eomer raced down the steps of Meduseld, the shadows long in the setting sun. The ever present wind whipped the cloak around his shoulders and tangled his hair as he reached the riders at the foot.

"Aragorn," he cried, as the man dismounted. "He lives!" The former ranger caught the king up in his arms, giving him an enthusiastic hug, then turned to help the second rider from the horse. A woman, her hood pulled up over her head.

"Eowyn?" he asked, even as he realized that she was too tall to be his sister. Eowyn, for all her years on horseback, could never have dismounted with such an unearthly grace.

"Forgive me, Arwen! I did not expect this!" he exclaimed, once again overwhelmed by her beauty as she pushed the dark hood back from her face.

Arwen looked at him, worry in her brilliant blue eyes, a sad smile on her lips. "Eowyn could not come, she is too near her time. But I hope I am an acceptable substitute?" she asked, as grooms led the tired horses to the stable.

He bowed low and took her hands, kissing the soft leather of her gloves. "He will be overjoyed to see you." He offered her his arm, escorting her up the steps.

Eomer spoke quickly as they walked, outlining all he knew, Gimli's death, Legolas' memory loss, the elf's injuries, the mention of an Ent.

Aragorn stopped for a moment, absorbing the news. "I'd hoped you were wrong about Gimli," he said softly. "He was a cherished friend." Tears welled in the King's blue eyes. Arwen bowed her head for a moment, her hand over her heart, then reached out to touch Aragorn's arm. He held her hand for a moment, then wiped his eyes. They continued up to the Hall.

"What are you doing in Fangorn?" Aragorn asked, his eyes hardening. "Has anything else been discovered?"

"Not yet," Eomer told him, "The war band is still searching for the rest of Gimli, and trying to find the Ents. It's a big forest, Aragorn, but I'm hoping for more news any time now."

"I can't believe Treebeard would allow something like this in his wood." Arwen said, sadly.

"He may have no choice," Eomer replied, guiding them into the Hall. "We are beginning to think that something or someone else is now in charge in Fangorn."

They stopped only long enough to remove their cloaks, taking a small glass of wine, and washing the dust of the roads from their faces. Eomer led them to the King's Chamber, where they heard the soft murmur of voices through the door.

Eomer opened it, ushering in the King and Queen of Gondor. Aragorn entered first, followed closely by his wife.

"Legolas! Aragorn is here," Eomer called gently as the pale figure on the bed turned to the door. "And Arwen has come."

The elf unconsciously strained to pull himself up a bit more, Malwyn unobtrusively piling more pillows behind him. She stepped back to the hearth, allowing for more room around the bed. Catching Eomer's eye, she nodded and took the tray back out the door with her.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, sitting beside him on the bed. "They told me you were dying!" He reached out to grip the elf gently by the shoulder. The elf reached out to return the gesture, wincing as it pulled at his ribs. "I'm glad to see they were wrong."

"He's a terrible visitor," Arwen muttered to Eomer as she passed him, moving to the other side of the bed. She stopped, when she passed the bed curtains and saw the ruin of the elf lying there under the dark patterned quilts. Her pale face went ashen, her wide eyes even wider. Legolas turned toward her and she saw the harm done to the ear, the discolouration of his face against the white of the pillows. Letting out a low cry, she sprang to him and threw her arms around him, sobbing.

"Arwen, Arwen, don't" Legolas told her, wrapping his good arm around her, trying to pat her back with the splinted one. He whispered to her in Sindarin, reassuringly. She cried harder, whispering back.

"Arwen, he's not dead! Why are you grieving for him?" Aragorn asked, puzzled by what he caught of the whispered words. She lifted her head from Legolas' chest and stared at him with eyes of blue ice. Eomer took Aragorn by the arm, leading him to the fire.

"Let's give them a moment. It's an elf thing, I think." He poured a cup of wine and passed it to Aragorn. The king sipped at it, trying to ignore the commotion behind him.

"My friend, I share your sorrow," Arwen sobbed into Legolas' chest, her Sindarin very quiet. He rubbed her shoulder with his good hand. "We loved him, too. But I am grateful you were spared." Her eyes looked up at his face, looking at him with fear. "To lose both of you..."

He wiped her tears, still murmuring soft words in Sindarin. She sniffed, reached in her sleeve for her kerchief.

"Mir needs me," he whispered, giving the diminutive it's proper Sindarin pronunciation with her.

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. "Mir?" she whispered.

He gave her a conspiratorial wink, ludicrous with the darkness around his eye. "I flatten it a bit, so everyone but him thinks it's the last half of his name. My secrets are safe with you, though." Arwen nodded. _Mir, a treasure, a precious thing. How like Legolas,_ she thought.

She wiped her face, pulled back from his embrace, began to rearrange the covers. He allowed her fuss, knowing she was devastated. But her instinctive reaction had made him feel better than Aragorn's forced cheerfulness, somehow.

Eomer and Aragorn returned to the bedside. Aragorn re-took his seat on one side, Arwen on the other, holding Legolas' hand. Eomer leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, pushing the curtains out of the way.

"You look better than I expected." Aragorn said, as if Arwen's weeping hadn't interrupted him.

"Apparently I've improved." Legolas told him. "Gimli is gone, Aragorn. I can't remember what happened, but I know he's gone." The profound sadness deepened in his face. The King of Gondor closed his eyes, and bowed his head, placing a hand on his heart. Arwen did the same, whispering words in Sindarin. Aragorn had tears in his eyes when he opened them.

"He was the best dwarf I ever knew," Aragorn said. Legolas nodded. "He will be sorely missed. Eowyn will be devastated."

"She's not the only one," Arwen said softly. "How is it with you?" she asked Legolas.

"I miss my friend. I shall always miss my friend. My world is darker without him." He looked up at Eomer. "But I am still here. I am not alone." He slipped back into the cadence of Sindarin, making his words sound formal to Eomer. It was how the elf had spoken when he'd first met him. He smiled down at him.

"Never alone," Aragorn smiled at him. "You are, of course, most welcome in Gondor. You could stay at the House of Healing..."

"No!" The outcry came from the man and elf at the same time. Aragorn looked from one to the other, puzzled.

Legolas was the first to speak. "I thank you for you offer, and I know the reputation of your healers. But I have the utmost confidence in Offa, and will recover here in the Mark." He looked at Eomer. "I am comfortable here."

"As you wish, of course," Aragorn said, "I only meant that Eomer would be freed from caring for you and able to find what is loose in Fangorn." Panic filled the blue eyes of the elf.

"I shall stay here, until Legolas feels easy." Eomer said calmly, as Arwen stroked the elf's arm soothingly. "I have men patrolling even now."

"Patrols?" Aragorn said, "I thought..."

"Legolas," Arwen interrupted, disturbed by the horror in the back of his eyes, "You look so tired. Would you like to rest now?"

"Yes," Eomer said, "that might be best. You have been up all day, and it's been a long one." He turned to the table, selecting the right bottle and mixing up the elf's sleeping draught.

"I'll sing for you," Arwen said, lovingly. "I'm sure Aragorn and Eomer have much to discuss."

Legolas looked at Eomer, took the cup he offered and drank it down. "You'll be back?" he asked, handing back the cup with trembling fingers.

"Of course," Eomer said, lightly touching the elf's cheek. "I'll send Malwyn to sit with you and Arwen, in case there's anything you need."

As Arwen began her song, Legolas closed his eyes. Hroth settled beside the bed, sighing. Eomer led the King of Gondor into his study.

"Fine!" Aragorn snapped, after Eomer sent the boy for Malwyn. "I understand that we don't discuss this in front of him. What is it that you're not telling me?"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N - Sorry for the wait, this turned into a trilogy on me. This one is on hiatus until all of Forty-Eight Ways is posted. Cheers!

Chapter 12

Eomer slumped in his chair as Offa joined the kings in the study. "Malwyn wants you to know that the evening meal is ready whenever you care to eat, Lord King," the healer told him. "You have only to send word to the kitchens. She's arranged for it to be served in here." Eomer nodded and introduced the healer to Aragorn. Aragorn nodded and repeated his question.

"What don't I know?"

Eomer rubbed his head, smoothing back his hair. "He's showing signs of having the Horrors, Aragorn." he said bluntly. "We're trying not to upset him too much. Talking of Fangorn, Gimli or what happened to him seems to trigger nightmares and fits."

"Battle Horror?" Aragorn breathed out softly. "Legolas?" he added, in tones of disbelief, shaking his head. "He's an elf."

"It's still early days, Lord King," Offa said, calmly, "but he has injured himself in the episodes. Hopefully as his body heals he will be better able to deal with the trauma, but right now, it only complicates things."

"So you haven't even asked him?" Aragorn asked, falling back into his chair, horrified Eomer would neglect to take any action whatever to capture the thing terrorizing Fangorn.

"Of course I haven't asked him!" Eomer said, indignant at the criticism, leaning across the table. "What am I supposed to say? 'By the way, Legolas, what was it exactly that did this? What killed Gimli?' He can't remember yet. When he's drugged we get bits and pieces, so we know an Ent was involved somehow, but I'm not going to put him through that agony again for garbled information."

We have to know", Aragorn said, getting back to his feet and striding up and down the room. "We have to know what we're up against."

"I'm telling you, he doesn't remember!"

"Then we make him. Get him talking about it, get it all out now!"

"How? If you'd seen him, just last night, Aragorn, you'd fear the damage he'll do to himself. Let alone what happened when we told him Gimli was gone! We can't put him through that again!"

"Eomer! This isn't like you at all! You have to consider your people, their safety! I know you care deeply for him, but do you really think he'll thank you for this later? What if someone else is killed?"

"That's just it, no one outside of Fangorn is being menaced. No one lives in Fangorn, Aragorn. Can't we give him some more time to heal? I'm afraid he'll kill himself in his frenzy."

"He's out of control during the nightmares." Offa asked, seriously. "It took three of us to stop him, Aragorn King, and he tore through his splints like they were kindling."

Aragorn sat down again, accepted the cup of wine the healer offered. He took a sip, then looked over the rim of his goblet with serious eyes.

"I'm telling you, we have to chance it. What if you give him that potion, the one that knocks him out. Maybe we could get him to tell us while he's going to sleep, and that might not be to bad. He'd be under the effects of the medicines."

"I'm not doing anything if he doesn't agree to it," Eomer said, forcefully. "You're not just going to break his mind for answers, Aragorn! Especially when you leave and its me left to put the pieces back together."

"Its more than you seem to be doing," the Gondorian king retorted. The rest of his reproach was stopped by the opening of the door.

"This gets us nowhere," Arwen said, coming into the room. Eomer looked at her expectantly. "He's almost asleep, his nurse is with him. You do realize that we both can hear you arguing? He wants to speak with you before he falls asleep." She looked pointedly at Aragorn, then at Eomer. "Please, behave yourselves. You are both on the same side, after all."

The followed her as she swept back into the King's Chamber, her skirts rustling. Legolas, eyes half opened, lay back on the pillows, Malwyn humming softly to him from her chair.

"Why are you fighting?" Legolas asked the kings, groggily, as they came into his view. "What is it you want me to do?"

"We want you to remember," Aragorn said, softly. "We want to stop whatever did this to you." He sat on the bed, facing the elf and taking his hand. "We'll be here to help."

"I can't remember, Aragorn. 'Mer must have told you that." He looked accusingly at Eomer, who sat on the other side of him.

"Of course I told him, love." Eomer said, reaching out to stroke the elf's cheek. "But he's right, it is important that you try."

"I don't want to do this." Legolas protested. "I'm so tired, can't we try in the morning?"

"You need to, Legolas, and this way may be the safest for you. I'm sorry to have to ask it of you," Aragorn said. "It's the only way we can stop what's out there. Before what happened to Gimli happens to someone else."

Shame covered the elf's face, his eyes dropping in humiliation. "When you put it like that..." he said, his face twisting in agony. "'Mer? What's burning?"

"Just the fire and the lamps." Eomer said, looking around the room. The healer was mixing up another cup, while Malwyn had settled at the foot of the bed.

"I can smell smoke, it's awful." The elf twisted. "Someone's burning leather or something..."

Arwen moved extra pillows away and gently placed herself beside the elf's head. "Try and remember," Arwen said softly. She began to stroke the stubble affectionately. "What happened to Gimli?"

The elf inhaled sharply, held his breath. It came out in a hiss. "We went to Fangorn." He jolted, as if trying to spring out of the bed. His hand clutched convulsively at Aragorn's. His head twisted and his face contorted in fear.

"'Mer!" he shrieked. Eomer grabbed the other, flailing hand, caressing Legolas' cheek.

"I'm here, love. We're all here, and you're safe. There's nothing can hurt you here." Eomer looked with panic at Arwen, who radiated peace as she continued to stroke the shaven head.

"You are safe," she whispered. "We love you and will help you." Legolas' breathing began to even out again. "Can you remember what happened to Gimli?"

Pain filled the blue eyes, then the lids came down, blocking her out, blocking them all out. "He died, Arwen. He died, when the screaming stopped." Legolas answered in a terrible voice.

"What stopped the screaming?" she asked, closing her own eyes against the horror.

"His death."

_The smoke was swirling around him now, the burning smell of his own hair, of Gimli's flesh. The fetid blackness wrapped around him, the silence now ominous. And then the laughter._

"_Kill me!" he screamed, ignoring the pain in his chest, his leg as he stood on the shattered knee. He wiped the blood from his eyes, spat it from his mouth. He had no weapon left now, not even a stick. Only his fury and determination._

"_Kill you?" the mocking voice said, the cruel tones filling his ears, his mind. "Oh, no, you hold your life too cheaply. You would count it a blessing to join your friend now. You will live, elf, and know that it was you who killed him. You, who brought axes to Fangorn."_

_He flew at the voice, fighting, clawing with his nails, kicking out with his broken leg. "Take me!"_

_He was swatted away, as easily as a fly. He charged at his tormentor again. The great hands beat at him, scourging him with branch like fingers, knocking him down again. "Insolent elf! You will live, it is a greater punishment."_

"_Give me his body," the elf begged, lifting himself up from the churned up earth and ash with his unbroken arm, "Give me that at least."_

_The Ent pulled something smouldering out of the fire. "This?" he laughed, holding the charred remains upside down by the boot. He laughed even harder as he threw it over the trees, the boot staying in his hand. He dropped it and stamped away. The elf fought his way to his feet, took a step and dropped again._

"_Ent" he screamed, in defiance. "I will have him!" The laughter mocked him even as sweet oblivion took him away._

"S'my fault," he said, to the stunned group, holding him, surrounding him with their love, preventing the struggles of the previous night. "S'my fault Gimli's dead." He looked at them, his voice pleading, some recognition returning to his face. "Let me go to him, let me die!"

Tears flowing down her face, Arwen bent and kissed Legolas' forehead. The hot splash on his cheek brought Legolas to more recollection of himself, for his eyes cleared, and he looked at them, wonderingly.

"'Mer?" he asked, voice slurred from the powerful drugs. "Where am I? Did I remember it?"

"Home, with me." Eomer told him, wiping away his own tears. "You remembered enough."

"Good, I had the most awful dreams. Why is Arwen crying?" He pulled up the hand entwined in Eomer's, rubbing the back of his own against Arwen's cheek.

"She's worried about you, love. How are you feeling now?"

"Very tired. Can I sleep here with you tonight?"

"Of course," the king told him, as the exhausted eyes closed once again and the elf dropped off to sleep. Malwyn wiped his face with warm cloths, settling him back into the pillows.

"Arwen, would you and Malwyn, stay with him until I get back?" Eomer asked, controlled fury in his voice. "Aragorn, Offa, I want to talk to you, now!" He led them out of the bedchamber and into the study.

Arwen shifted to the side of the bed, and began to sing in Sindarin, a child's lullaby. The elf's face relaxed. Malwyn smiled her gratitude at the Queen.

"We are never doing that again. Ever. So don't ask." Eomer snapped, turning on the other two. "We know it was an Ent. We head for Fangorn in the morning." He raised a hand at Aragorn's protest.

"In the morning, Aragorn. He wants me with him tonight, and that's where I'm staying." He turned to face the healer. "I know what you're going to say, Offa. With you, Arwen and Malwyn, he won't feel abandoned."

"How are we going to find the Ent?" Aragorn asked, pouring wine for them all and wiping the sweat from his face. The elf's revelations had shaken him more than he realized.

"We're going to raze Fangorn." Eomer told him, accepting his cup.

"You can't!" Aragorn protested "It's barbaric!"

"I'm a barbarian, Aragorn," Eomer said, his face growing dark, "especially where my family is concerned."

Aragorn looked at Eomer, puzzled. Eomer held up his right hand, and Aragorn noticed for the first time the plain silver band on the first finger. "I hadn't appreciated all the circumstances, Eomer. My apologies."

Eomer passed his hand over his eyes for a moment. Aragorn reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. Eomer nodded and drank his wine.

"Now," he continued, "you can come with us, and if you want, you can try your elvish skills on the Ents. Or you can stay here and nurse him. Me, I'm taking the direct approach. Whatever did that to him," and he gestured toward the closed chamber door, "will die slowly and with great pain."

"We don't even know which Ent it was, let alone why it did this. If you lay waste to Fangorn, you'll only exacerbate the problem." Aragorn pointed out. "That's revenge, not justice,"

"Right now the two seem interchangeable. And I don't care why!" He brought his face very close to Aragorn's. "Barbarian, remember."

After their plans had been set, he returned to the bedchamber, where Arwen continued to sing softly. Malwyn sat by the fire, tending to Hroth, who looked desolate.

Arwen stood to greet him as he made his way to the bed. "He hasn't moved, Eomer. Malwyn thinks he'll sleep through now." She reached out to touch the big man's face. "This must be so hard on you, to have him like this," she said.

"Better to have him like this than not at all," he replied softly, taking her hand and kissing it. "You go, eat, rest up. I'll stay with him now, and Aragorn can fill you in on our plans. You, too, Malwyn." he said over his shoulder. "I can take care of things tonight, and he's not going to be happy with me in the morning, I'll need your support."

After the women left, Eomer sighed, and tugged off his boots. He changed quickly into his nightclothes, wrapping himself in his robe, and settled down with a final cup of wine. His eyes flickered between the dancing flames and the sleeping elf. _Poor, poor Gimli,_ he thought. He only half registered when Hroth got up and moved beside the bed. The huge dog was a good indicator of how Legolas was feeling. Hroth slumped to the floor, curled up and closed his eyes.

"He's alright, then, is he?" Eomer said softly, reaching down to scratch behind Hroth's ear. The dog whuffed once, and relaxed under his touch. The elf stirred at the man's voice.

"'Mer?" he asked sleepily, reaching out with the unbroken arm.

"Right here, love," Eomer said, gently, slipping onto the bed. He held the seeking hand, as Legolas slept on.

**0**o0o

"Legolas, love, I need to talk to you." Eomer said, seriously the next morning. The elf, surprised by the worried tone in the man's voice, looked up.

"I must go away for a few days. It is something I cannot leave to others. I'm sure you understand that." Eomer told him, sitting down beside him.

"Where are you going?" the elf asked, looking troubled.

"Fangorn. I'm going to bring Gimli back." he sad, sorrow filling his eyes.

Legolas swallowed hard, while terror and pain flickered across his face to immediately replaced by stubbornness. "I'm coming."

Eomer smiled wryly, "Oh, no, you are not, love. Arwen is going to stay here with you, feed you elvish dainties and look after you. Malwyn and Offa will be right here as well. You will be perfectly safe."

"I'm coming. You're not going back there without me. I can ride."

"You can't sit up yet without pain. You are staying in that bed."

"No, I'm not." Legolas pulled himself up, ignoring the pain of the scabs on his back, his ribs, his knee. "You can tie me to Arod if you have to. But I'm going."

"I'll tie you to the bed if I have to. But you will stay here."

Tears of frustration filled the blue eyes. "I can't. I have to go."

"I'm leaving you here with Arwen and Malwyn. Will you fight women to get loose? I have to warn you, Malwyn keeps a knife in her boot, and Arwen could take you in a fight right now. You stay here. I'm not risking you again."

Fury filled the elf's face. "Risk? You don't know what's out there, Eomer King! If it did this to me, what will it do to you?"

"Don't you understand? If you were in any condition to fight, I would take you with me! There's no one I'd rather have at my back. But you stay here. Don't fight me on this, Legolas. I'm not having it."

The elf fell back on the pillows in frustration. "I want it. Whatever did this, I want it. I want to carve it into little pieces myself. Do you understand_ me_?"

_One berserk elf, consumed by revenge. He doesn't need to sleep for days at a time, he's stronger than any man, and he's crafty. This is going to be fun_, Eomer thought to himself.

"I am king, Legolas, and you will stay here!" Eomer said, command in his voice, knowing it was futile.

"Not my king," the elf muttered.

"Then, as you love me, listen to me. Twice I've nearly lost you. A third time will kill me. I'm asking, no, I'm begging you, for my sake, stay here. Rest. If we can bring it in alive, we will."

"I'm not happy about this, 'Mer," the elf said, stung by his words. "What happens to me if anything happens to you?"

"Nothing happens to me," Eomer said, bending to kiss the elf's head. "I'm a barbarian. We always make it through."


End file.
